Yellow Submarine
by Deadwoodpecker
Summary: Alternate Universe. Two hurting, almost broken people reach toward the sunlight. This story has implied sexual violence and a Ginny who is two years younger than she was in canon.
1. Prologue: Yesterday

13 June 1998

The Elder Wand clattered to the floor, and Harry Potter fought the sudden urge to follow it. Voldemort's last taunts still echoed in the marble entry hall of Malfoy Manor; the visions he had sent Harry before he'd died still held his mind in their grip; he leaned over and vomited. The seconds passed slowly. Fifteen seconds. Thirty seconds. _Not even a full minute_.

The sick fear and repulsion did not abate. His stomach curdled with it; hot blood continued to flood his brain, and he dreaded what came next. There was a small whimper behind him, and he suddenly wished there were more Death Eaters to kill. _I'm not ready for this. I can't do this_.

But Harry was not a coward, and he exerted massive effort and turned to look at her. Ginny Weasley huddled on the floor. Blushing, stammering, laughing Ginny with long red hair and bright brown eyes was an emaciated version of herself. She curled up against the wall, hands clasped around her knees to hide the fact that she was naked. She had long, deep scratches on her arms, and he knew that her hair and posture hid others. Her wrists and ankles had deep, ugly furrows in them that oozed fluids and smelled badly.

He took off his robes, and draped it over her. He didn't know what to say. She was Ron's little sister. She was only fourteen years old, and he didn't even want to think about what had been done to her, and she'd had to live through what had been done to her. The words _I'm sorry_ stuck in his throat, choking him.

"I'll -- Healer..." he said. He touched her arm. She flinched away.

"Don't look at me," she said. Her face was hidden in her arms.

"I won't," he promised. "You need to -- St. Mungo's." He'd never had a hard time talking to Ron's little sister. He'd known her since she was eight, after all, and he never would have guessed that he would be here, in this position. _I should have guessed_. He stared down at the wall just behind the top of her head (he didn't want to break his promise) and realized that he had never, ever felt this type of horror. He tore his eyes away from that point and looked around. Rodolphus Lestrange, Greyback, and the Malfoys were dead. And despite the fact that he had never before killed, and that just an hour ago he had tried to prevent the death of the man who betrayed his parents, he suddenly wanted them alive so he could kill them again.

He felt a tug on his pants.

"Please don't tell," she said in a low voice.

"I won't," he said again. He wished there were more enemies to take care of, that it was not already over. This moment, this feeling was so much worse than battle fury or fear. His own teeth were chattering in the aftermath. _I'm so sorry_, he wanted to say. Harry had seen loved ones die; he'd seen people be tortured by the Cruciatus Curse; he'd seen a dementor almost suck out a man's soul.

Still. He just didn't understand how a young girl could be treated like that; his stomach turned over. _Because of me_. He wiped sweat off his suddenly clammy brow. _She was taken because of me_. Tom Riddle's body drew his attention again. _I killed him too late_.

"I have to take you to a Healer," he said in a stronger voice. How long had she been there? Why hadn't he known? Why hadn't Mr. Weasley sent another patronus to Ron, telling him that his little sister had been taken by Death Eaters?

"You said you wouldn't tell!" she said wildly. She looked at him for the first time. Her eyes were wide and staring.

"I'll just tell one person," he said. "Just one. But you're hurting -- I never learned the spells to make it better."

She shook her head. For one awful moment, Harry thought he was going to have to pick her up and force her to come with him, and he didn't want to have to touch her because he'd seen the way her entire body had flinched away from his touch. But her attention was caught once again by the bodies on the floor and, breathing heavily through her nose, she heaved herself to her feet. She walked as though she was on a ship: awkward and bow-legged.

_I'm so sorry_.

Once they were outside, she permitted him to touch her elbow. She looked very small and young; she was swimming in his robes. Her hair looked like blood against her pale skin; it used to look like fire.

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17 June 1998

**HARRY POTTER DEFEATS YOU-KNOW-WHO, DISAPPEARS**

_It has been confirmed that the dark wizard known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated at last. "He's gone," said Interim Minister For Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. "He's dead. I've seen his body." This event occurred on the 13th of June, 1998 (see "A Year of Terror" in tomorrow's issue of the _Daily Prophet_) after nearly a year of living in You-Know-Who's shadow (see "Pius Thicknesse: Imperius or Free Will?" page 5)._

The final altercation took place at Malfoy Manor two days ago. The details have not yet been released: when pressed, Minister Shacklebolt says, "Isn't it enough that he's dead? He was defeated by Harry Potter. That's enough." No other facts can be corroborated, other than the bodies of Rodolphus Lestrange, Fenrir Greyback, Peter Pettigrew, and all three Malfoys were found beside You-Know-Who.

Harry Potter, 17, is unavailable for comment. He was briefly seen at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies late that evening and requested the assistance of a Healer. The Healer, who prefers to remain unnamed, admitted that she treated Ginevra Weasley, 14, for unknown injuries. He has not been seen since, nor has he responded to the flocks of owls requesting more information (see "Harry Potter: Twice Savior" page 2). The Weasley family, long-time supporters of Harry Potter, have likewise been reluctant to speak to the press. "We have no idea how it happened," says Ron Weasley. "We were there up until Dobby got us out of there; we thought Harry was right behind us. I had no idea my sister was even there. And Harry isn't talking to us either, even though we just want him to come home. It isn't his fault."

Mysteries aside, it is a very joyous occasion for all witches, wizards, and Muggles. The Auror Department has already been reformed, and Death Eaters are being rounded up and sent to Azkaban as this is written (see "Dementors Driven From Britain" page 6). Once more, an age of freedom will be enjoyed thanks to Harry Potter.

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Ginny Weasley wasn't stupid. She knew exactly where she was. She was in her own room at the Burrow, huddled under the covers, and the lamp cast a soft glow around the room. But sometimes she knew that she was still at Malfoy Manor. She could hear the squealing of Pettigrew when he was being tormented; the click of the door was Lucius Malfoy's cane tapping toward her, closer and closer. And the cool breeze through the open window was Fenrir Greyback's breath hot on the back of her neck. And sometimes even though her eyes were open and the lamp was lit, she felt like it was totally dark, like it had been when they put her away.

The first night was the worst.

She'd been so cold, and she thought that Draco Malfoy might have made good on his threat to bring in a dementor, and she screamed before she could stop herself.

"It's the shock," someone said. "And I've already given her a potion; she'll sleep soon."

"We thought she was at school," her dad kept saying. Though he might've only said it the once, and Ginny just kept hearing it. "She was sending us letters!" Someone was sobbing. At first she thought it was her mum, but it was her dad, and that just made it worse. Mums cried, not dads.

Something heavy pressed down on her chest, and it grew heavier with each passing moment. It made her sick. "STOP CRYING!" someone shouted; it took Ginny a few moments to realize it had been her.

A while later.

"What the _hell_ happened?" It was Ron.

"She w-w-was at Malfoy Manor," her mum said.

"We were just there," he sounded so confused. Ginny wanted to reassure him that he couldn't have seen her; she'd been chained to the table and in another room. "I didn't -- are you sure -- where the hell is Harry?"

She remembered a flash of green light. "He's dead," she whispered. "He's dead, he's dead--"

"--distressed again; I wouldn't normally have used this potion with the... complications, but her injuries were severe enough to need it," said the Healer. "And, Miss Weasley, Harry Potter is most certainly not dead. He's the one that -- er -- got me from the hospital."

And Ginny was suddenly frightened. She'd checked the bodies again and again -- Harry had told her they were dead and they had to get out of there -- but what if they weren't dead either? _They are_, said a small, firm voice. _They're dead. Deader than dead_. Fear receded. Anguish rushed in. Why did it have to be Harry of all people that had seen her like that? What he must think of her...

"I'm sure he still likes you just fine," Hermione said in a thick voice. Ginny realized with a start that she had spoken out loud. "He wouldn't -- Harry would..."

"Harry did," said Ron. Ron been gone for a while, but he was back again. He'd been gone since Bill's wedding, but he was back again now. Her brother. "He killed them, Hermione, he must've gone ballistic when he saw her; Voldemort's gone, too... I found the snake's body with all the rest. Kingsley was already there. Said he'd seen Harry. _Blimey..._"

"_Harry_ killed--?" Hermione said in disbelief.

"I wish I'd been there too," Ron said darkly. Ginny flinched. Harry had seen her like that. _Harry_. She'd fancied him forever, and he'd seen her. She'd asked him not to look--

"If you asked him not to look, I'm sure he didn't," Ron said. Ginny could tell that he was crying, and it just made everything worse. "I can't help it, Ginny. If any of the fuckers who touched her are still alive, they won't be for long."

Harry had checked just to make sure. Yes, it had just been three of them, though Wormtail had tried. Yes, she was certain.

Words faded away. Ginny did not know how long the potion gripped her. It muddled her thoughts and made time pass in strange ways; sometimes the hours flew by while she blinked, and other times she lay awake in the well-lit room while the clock ticked off the seconds once a minute. But as her injuries healed, the potion left her longer stretches of clarity. _You're safe. You're home. You're safe. You're home. They're dead_. That fierce certainty was what she clung to.

Harry never returned, and a part of her was so relieved that it made her feel ill. Sometimes she had a dream and she would wake up thinking that he was gripping her elbow and taking her away, and she'd break out into a cold sweat. He knew everything. He'd seen everything. He'd seen her like that. But the best part of her was worried along with the rest of her family, because Harry had always felt guilty about everything, and he was certain to blame himself for this, too.

But she didn't want him to look at her, and maybe he knew that, and that's why he stayed away. He'd seen her naked. He'd seen her chained up like a dog, and after he'd broken her out, she probably hadn't remembered to always cover herself with her arms, even though she'd never even been able to wear her bathing suit in front of him. But she didn't want him to blame himself; it wasn't his fault. He was a hero. She just didn't want him to look at her.


	2. I Feel Fine

26 August 2001

"I can't believe my baby is leaving for her last year at Hogwarts," Molly Weasley's eyes were misty and her lips trembled. She made a fluttering motion with her arms, but seemed to think better of it. Ginny couldn't help but be relieved that she'd managed to hold in her embrace. "I feel old," she added with a watery chuckle.

"You aren't old," Ginny replied automatically. And technically she was a year late graduating, though everyone was very kind and didn't mention that to her. She should've graduated last June. _Three years, two months, and thirteen days_. "And we'll see if I actually pass my NEWTs."

Ron let out a loud groan. "Don't get her started," he pleaded, tightening his arm around Hermione's shoulders. "She's dying to make up a study schedule for you. She was talking about it all last night." Ginny smiled at the two of them. Hermione swatted Ron away in mock indignation.

"I wasn't talking about it _all_ last night," she said playfully, with deliberate emphasis. The tips of Ron's ears turned red, and Ginny felt a churning in her stomach that had nothing to do with the sip of wine she'd had. She curled her hand around Arnold, the Pygmy Puff that Fred and George had given her in 1999, and stroked his little body. He nuzzled closer and squeaked; Ginny knew that he wanted to burrow into her hair, and she felt a pang of guilt. She had it in a ponytail today. _Maybe I should take it down?_

The tension in her belly slowly dissipated, and she grew aware that an uncomfortable silence had settled over the group of four. The laughter and high spirits from the twins and Charlie -- they were currently making the picnic tables duel each other -- seemed oddly dissonant. "I'd like help with the study schedules," Ginny said, just because she knew she had to say something. Otherwise they'd ask her if she was all right, and she hated it when they pointed out the fact that she wasn't exactly normal. _I'm managing_, she told herself fiercely._ What more do they want from me?_

"Ginny, I--"

But Ginny interrupted Hermione. "I think I'm really going to need them," she said firmly. They backed off, much to her relief. "Especially in Transfiguration," she pulled a face. "I didn't understand half of what McGonagall was going on about last year." It really hadn't been that bad. "I don't know what made me decide to try for my NEWT in it." Schoolwork kept her busy, and she liked to have her hours filled. "Maybe you could help me... did you keep your old notes?"

She knew immediately that she'd gone too far; she'd been too enthusiastic. Her mother, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances. She wanted to tell them that she'd only had a little moment, that she was perfectly aware that normal people had sex, and that she was just fine now, but the words stuck in her throat. To her eternal gratitude, a distraction in the form of her sister-in-law and her small niece arrived.

"There's Auntie Ginny!" Fleur said merrily. The tiny girl who had her mother's hair and her father's eyes reached out her pudgy arms and practically launched herself at Ginny. Ginny accepted her happily.

"Hi there, Victoire," she said, kissing the baby's smooth cheeks. Arnold warbled and scooted down to investigate; Ginny often thought that her pygmy puff was under the impression that Victoire Weasley was his personal toy. "Have you been good for Mummy and Daddy?"

The one year old gurgled and let out a stream of nonsense words, waving her fist at the sky.

"Oh really?" Ginny raised her eyebrows. "That's very interesting, sweetheart."

"I don't know what we're going to do without you around," Fleur admitted, patting her daughter on the back. Ginny forced herself to stand still and not back away. Fleur was very close, but that was okay, because Victoire was her baby and she ought to be able to stand as close as she wanted. "She looks for her Auntie Ginny, you know," she glanced at the others. "As soon as we got here, she was already craning her neck."

"I've noticed that," her mum said.

"Yeah, Ginny's got the position of favorite aunt in the bag," Ron said comfortably. He grinned down at Hermione. "You'll just have to graciously accept defeat."

"Maybe Victoire would like to have an aunt by marriage," her mum said waspishly. Ginny smiled; this was her mother's favorite topic. "Instead of a live in aunt. I know that she'd like cousins. And"--eyeing Fleur speculatively--"I bet she'd like brothers and sisters."

"_Non_," Fleur laughed, shaking her beautiful head. "One small barbarian is enough for now, Molly."

Ginny swayed side to side, holding Victoire close. She was going to miss her niece; she'd spent at least an hour almost every day at Shell Cottage the entire summer. If she was honest with herself, Victoire was the one person in her family that she'd miss the most. She was so easy to be around, such a joy. Ginny brushed the hair out of the baby's face and gave her another kiss, and tickled her under her chin, causing rich chuckles -- which seemed too loud to come from such a delicate girl -- to erupt, starting in her little belly and ending at the mouth that rested right near Ginny's ear.

A small, turquoise-haired canon hurtled into her. "HI!" Teddy Lupin shouted. He spread his arms out, beaming up at everyone. "I'M HERE!" Victoire leaned over and babbled at him. Remus Lupin approached the family more sedately.

"Just like his mother," said Remus. He tried to sound weary, but his wide grin gave him away. "Congratulations on starting your last year," he said.

"Thanks," replied Ginny.

"Where's Dora?" Fred asked, joining them. And suddenly, without warning, it struck her that while she'd been distracted by the children, the rest of her rather large family had come to join them -- and dread undulated over her skin. They were arrayed in a very loose ring around her, but she thought it might be getting smaller and smaller--

"Ginny?" her dad said gently. "Do you want to go for a little walk?"

She resented the fact that she had to escape from her own going away party, and she wished that it had been anyone else but her father who had swooped in to rescue her. But she passed Victoire back to Fleur and followed him. There was a horrible moment when he forgot and reached out to put his arm around her and she had to sidle out of the way; and of course she couldn't look at him for a few moments after that. The hurt look on his face would just make her ill.

Sometimes she could still hear him sobbing at her bedside when she was first brought back to the Burrow, and even though it was stupid and unfair of her, the memory of that unbridled display of emotion made her want to run away. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye; she wanted to say she was sorry, but a sudden wave of helplessness drowned the words in her throat. Ginny couldn't bear it when she knew when the others were thinking about it. The pain in their eyes made it feel like something was crushing her chest, and she just... couldn't do it.

"Are you looking forward to going back to Hogwarts?" he asked.

Ginny nodded. "I am." She neglected to mention that it was mostly because she needed an escape. Ginny loved her family very much, but it was just easier to be away from them and missing them than being near them and causing them hurt. "So is Arnold, though I think he'll miss watching the gnomes."

He chuckled. "I knew they were good for something -- your mother thinks I'm too soft on them."

"Free entertainment for Arnold," said Ginny. "Be sure to tell her that next time."

"I will," he promised.

_It's been three years, two months, and thirteen days_, she thought desperately. _I should be over it by now!_ She pushed that thought away, because the idea of bridging the gap between surviving and living was just too much. Her fingers shook a little when she reached up and pulled out her hairband. Arnold probably wanted to take a nap, and he liked it best if he could sleep in her hair.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she lied.

He sighed, but he didn't press it. The very worst part of Ginny felt a little burst of rage. What, exactly, did he expect from her? She wasn't the little girl who would run and jump into his arms, and it was stupid of him to think that she'd do it. Stupid.

"I wish you'd tell me why you're so angry with me," he said. She could practically feel his eyes on her face, and it made her as uncomfortable as if he had touched her.

_Because you cried_.

"I think you'd feel better if you could just talk about it," he continued, to Ginny's horror. "And I don't blame you for being angry with me; I'm pretty angry with myself."

Ginny desperately wanted to cover her ears, or take out her wand and put a silencing charm on him. "I'm not mad at you," she said automatically. _Stop talking. Please just stop talking_. She forced herself to take slow, even breaths.

Her dad was silent for a very long time. "Do you know if pygmy puffs have litters or just one at a time?" he asked finally, with the air of grasping at straws.

"Litters," she said firmly. They had turned around and were now heading back to the Burrow, where everyone was waiting for her to act naturally and cut the Quaffle cake her mother had made. It seemed very dark under the trees all of a sudden. "They have litters. Usually only three or four, though, not like a cat. Fred and George let me help out with a birthing once."

"That was very kind of them," he murmured.

"Yes, it was," Ginny agreed. Only thirty feet until they reached the picnic tables that had been set up. Dora Lupin had arrived; her bright pink hair (tipped with black; she was annoyed about something), was like a beacon.

They finally drew near enough that Ginny could hear snatches of their conversation, though judging from the dark looks on everyone's face, she wouldn't want to hear it.

"--Malfoy Manor?" Ron asked. He had the heel of his hand pressed up against his forehead.

"Yes, both of them," her mother answered. "Still..."

"I tried to talk some sense into him," Remus admitted. Ginny knew, without having to hear a name, that they were talking about Harry Potter. Three years, two months, and thirteen days since she'd seen him. "I was very firm with him, and I wasn't very kind."

"He retreats real fast if we mention any of you," Dora said; her lips were twisted up in a grimace. Ginny was torn between wanting to hear more about Harry and wanting to run away.

Her father took the choice away from her when he cleared his throat loudly; her mother pressed her lips firmly together and the subject was dropped for the rest of the day.

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26 August 2001

Harry watched the barn owl fly away until it was a speck in the distance. And then he continued to watch, shading his eyes in the morning light. _I've just agreed to teach at Hogwarts_, he thought, still in advanced stages of disbelief. It was almost as though he'd been above himself, watching as he wrote with a firm hand his acceptance that yes, he would teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. If he didn't know any better (not that he trusted such things automatically; he'd checked the envelope himself for curses), he would've thought that some sort of compulsion spell had taken hold of him.

_You're fooling yourself._

He only had to glance around the room at Grimmauld Place to know exactly why he'd accepted the position. It was empty. When he wasn't traveling, he lived here. It was empty and lonely. Hogwarts would be full of people; most of them would be students, and he was decent about defending himself. And he could help teach the students; it would almost be like leading Dumbledore's Army again, though now with Voldemort dead and his ashes scattered in the wind, it would be a lot safer.

Not to mention, Remus' words last week had rankled and festered. It had been an odd mirror of the long ago conversation he'd had with him in the kitchen. He'd accused Remus of leaving Dora and Teddy because he was a coward. And now Remus accused Harry of cowardice because he just couldn't be who Remus seemed to think he was.

Harry stepped back and determinedly pushed that particular conversation out of his head. He didn't want to think of it. Remus had believed what he was saying, and he was too old a friend (not to mention a friend of Harry's father's) to completely ignore. And every time he thought about it, he did rash things like agree to teach at Hogwarts even though most of his own professors had been wildly incompetent and what the hell did he know about teaching first years the basics?

_Remus managed just fine_.

_And now I'm going to have to talk to him_, Harry thought gloomily. He clattered down the stairs to the hearth, pulled the Elder Wand out of his pocket, and seconds later, a merry fire blazed. He dug in a few of the cupboards, looking for his floo powder. He finally found a nearly full, dusty box of the sparkling stuff and threw it onto the logs while kneeling down. "Lupin residence," he said firmly. He experienced the odd sensation of just his head spinning past other wizarding grates, until a cluttered kitchen with a whistling replica of the Hogwarts Express chugging through the air.

"Remus?" he called. "Remus! Are you home?"

He tried to ignore the fact that the last thing Remus had said to him was that Harry was making it so he would die friendless and alone. He had a feeling that the old wolf would be overly thrilled that he had taken the position, and his effusive praise was going to sting Harry's pride. But how else was he to get help with coming up with a decent lesson plan? He couldn't exactly drop back into Hermione's life after three years of silence and ask her to do it for him. It was tempting.

Quick footsteps. "Harry?" Dora appeared right in front of him. Her bright pink hair made the shock written all over her face even more apparent. "Twice in one week? Do I need to do a security question? Make sure it's really you?"

"Funny," Harry said. He shifted uncomfortably. He didn't know if Remus' quiet statements against Harry's character were worse than Dora's constant nattering. He suspected the former, but the latter was quite annoying too. "Listen... is Remus home?"

"Nope," she said cheerfully. "He has Teddy, and I'm about to follow my boys."

_Damn_.

"How is he?" Harry asked dutifully.

"He's really great," she said enthusiastically. "He's really coming into his own; he did a pig snout just yesterday. It was the first time he's ever made anything non human before. That's as big as a first step for a metamorphmagus."

"That's really great," echoed Harry. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Listen," she said, voice suddenly soft. "There's a party at the Burrow--"

"Don't," Harry said warningly.

She ignored him. "I'm sure they'd be happy to see you. It's been so long."

Harry was certain there was one person who wouldn't be happy to see him. He of all people knew how seeing someone could trigger memories and emotions, and Ginny had suffered horrors that were emblazoned on Harry's memory. Remus had said that she was doing all right...

But he was tempted to go home nonetheless. He kept his eyes downcast so that Dora wouldn't see his weakness. She had a tendency to speak her mind (last December she'd claimed that all of Harry's "broody-ness" could be cured by a good shag) and dig in her heels about something. And if she thought that Harry would give an inch, she'd yank him the whole bloody mile. And he just couldn't face them. He remembered the last time he'd seen the Burrow. He'd held an unconscious Ginny is his arms, and the Healer he'd kidnapped from the hospital and bullied into treating her stood beside him. He'd seen the lights on, and something had just... snapped. And he hadn't been able to walk those steps back home. Not yet.

But time had stretched on, and now it just seemed easier for all involved to just stay away.

"Will you tell him I called?" Harry asked finally.

Dora shook her head. The tips of her hair turned black and spiky, a sure sign of annoyance. "Why don't I tell everyone you said hi? Or -- better yet -- how about I grab you by the hair and force you to tell me where you live so we can all come over and kick -- your -- arse? I never thought I'd hate the Fidelius Charm."

"I'll see you later, Dora," Harry said. He pulled his head out of the fire before she could respond (or possibly make good on her threat) and rocked back onto his heels. He supposed he'd have to figure out the lesson plans himself.

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01 September 2001

Ginny Weasley clutched her pygmy puff tightly, only loosening her grip when poor Arnold led out a little squeak of dismay. The first day of school was always the worst. There were just so many people jostling for position in the carriages, and the train ride had left her feeling slightly trapped. But it's a lot better than last year, she thought. Last year she'd had to sit in a quiet compartment all by herself because she'd felt so hemmed in by everyone, but this year she'd shared it with Demelza Robins and Emma Dobbs. And she had to admit that the first year after she'd been captive, she couldn't have gone near a train at all.

But she didn't think she was up to the Welcoming Feast, much as it galled her to admit that she had boundaries; being near so many people would be crossing one of them. Halloween, she promised herself. I can go to the Halloween Feast. She held her new broom -- the result of months working in the storeroom in Fred and George's shop -- between her knees and turned her attention back to the spirited conversation between Demelza and Emma.

"I heard from Susan Bones that they were having a really hard time finding a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," said Demelza. Ginny had a strange sense of deja vu. The curse on the position had apparently been broken, but the swift turnaround in the position was still an issue. Professor Robards had only taught for two years before he had returned to the Auror Department.

"I hope we have someone young this year," Emma said. She hooked her dark brown hair around her ears, eyes twinkling excitedly. "Robards was pretty cute, but he was too old."

"I liked the first year after the war," Demelza said wistfully. "Remember when the cute blokes from Dumbledore's Army took turns? Michael Corner was just so..."

"I know," Emma nodded, sighing a little.

Ginny resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She liked Emma and Demelza well enough -- the three of them were in the same boat; they were the three oldest Gryffindor girls, and they'd all been forced to add another year to their education plan for one reason or another. Not to mention, Demelza was also on the Quidditch team. And when she wasn't too busy reminiscing about Michael Corner's teaching methods, she was fun to talk to. And Emma... she was about as different from Luna Lovegood (another of her brother's friends that she'd had the fortune to inherit) as night was from day, but they both had the ability to say off the wall things to distract her.

But when the talk turned to boys, Ginny just couldn't relate.

She jiggled her foot nervously; her palms were hot and sweaty, and she spared a moment of pity for Arnold. It must be like being in a very hot, humid prison. He made a mournful sound, and she opened her fingers a little, waving her hand a bit so he'd get a bit of a breeze. Fred and George had teased her over the summer, because she'd brought Arnold to work with her every day, but one of her greatest fears was somehow hurting him or waking up to his cold little body on her pillow. That had happened to Fleur's first pygmy puff, and though Ginny knew that their life expectancies weren't very long, she didn't want him to leave her.

"Ginny? Ginny!" Emma snapped her fingers in front of Ginny's face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Ginny said sharply. Of all the things Ginny Weasley hated to be asked, those four words were right beneath "what happened to you?" and instantly drew her ire. Why does everyone insist on asking me that?

"It's just that we stopped about a minute ago," Emma pointed out, almost as sharply. "Fancy sitting in the carriage for the rest of the night?"

Ginny glanced around. The thestrals stamped their feet and huffed out breaths as though they were annoyed with her as well. One even looked back at her and tossed its head as though urging her to get out. She grimaced and wanted to say she was sorry, but she just couldn't. The words stuck in her throat; they were trapped. She felt herself blushing as she stepped down, awkwardly balancing Arnold and the Nimbus 2121, the Millennium Broom. Stupid name for a great broom.

"I'm going up," she said.

"Do you want us to bring you any food?" Demelza asked quietly.

"No, thanks," Ginny said vaguely. "I'm so tired... I'm just too exhausted to stay up."

The walk up to the castle was not as bad as it usually was. Demelza and Emma (who appeared to have gotten over her annoyance) kept up determined chatter, specifically designed to force Ginny to talk. She tried to keep up, even though the shadows were particularly creepy, and Ginny sometimes thought she saw movement where it ought to have been still.

"No, I don't think the Cannons have got any chance of winning any games at all this year," she said determinedly. "Though don't tell my brother Ron that I said that."

"How is Ron?" Demelza asked with great interest.

"Still with Hermione," Ginny said, grinning despite herself. It baffled Ron to no end that witches thought of him with longing. The laughing fights Ron and Hermione had about his cluelessness had quickly become a family legend. A tree branch moved and she twitched away from it. _Stop it, Ginny. There are no more Death Eaters. None at all..._

She switched hands, wondering if Arnold might be more comfortable if he was inside the sleeve of her shirt. But she was already wearing her school robes, and she couldn't very well strip them off in the middle of the drive. _I should have thought of that before_, she thought. _I should've thought about it on the train. What if he's too cold?_ She concentrated very hard on the hand that held Arnold -- making sure that she wasn't squeezing too tightly -- and tried to determine if the little guy was trembling or not.

"Ginny!" It was Demelza's turn to sound exasperated.

Blinking in surprise, she realized that they stood in front of the doors that led to the Entrance Hall. They must have walked very quickly, because the rest of the students lagged behind, and Emma was breathing heavily, as though she had run from the carriages to the school. Their head start, however, was swiftly lost as the shouting, laughing students drew even with them and streamed around them as though they were three small boulders in a river.

And suddenly the normal sounds of young witches and wizards enjoying themselves became something more sinister. The laughter had a harder edge, and it tugged at something in her stomach. Because she didn't want to close her eyes and see something she saw in her dreams often enough, she opened them wider. The back of her neck tingled and despite her best efforts, she could almost feel Greyback behind her--

"Arnold," she said thickly. "He needs to get back up to the room. It's too loud for him." And without waiting for a response, she shoved her way forward. She forced her steps to be as even and measured as she could. The humiliation of completely losing her head in front of Hogwarts would be more than she could handle.

"Are you sure you don't want us to bring you any food?" Emma called after her.

"I'm not hungry," Ginny called over her shoulder, lying through her teeth. She was a Weasley who hadn't eaten since she'd bought a few chocolate frogs off the trolley; of course she was hungry. But she had an emergency stash of food in her trunk courtesy of Ron; it would be waiting for her upstairs.

She paused only once on her non-flight to Gryffindor Tower, and this because of another ghost. A tall man stood with his back to her; his black hair was rumpled and untidy, and even though she knew it wasn't him, her heart seemed to leap and sink all at once. Unlike Greyback and the Malfoys, who were creeping shadows, Harry Potter was a shining light that somehow seemed to hurt almost as badly.

She shook her head and forced herself to turn away. She hadn't seen Harry in three years, two months, and nineteen days; there was no reason to think that her mind wasn't playing tricks on her. _Again_. "Come on, Arnold," she said, she opened her hand and placed him on her shoulder where he cuddled against her ear. "Let's go to bed."

The Gryffindor common room was silent and empty and Ginny hurried through it and took the stairs to the girls' dormitories two at a time. Once she'd entered the new room added for those who didn't really fit with any of others (it had originally been added the first year after the war, and Ginny was so glad that she was in her last year and could live in it), she closed the door and leaned against it with a sigh of relief.

The best thing about the room was that large privacy screens had been placed around each bed; it was almost as though the three of them had their own room. And for all intents and purposes, they did, as privacy charms had been built with the partitions. She thought it had been a nice touch, almost a reward to the students for surviving Voldemort, and loads of other people felt the same. Headmaster Flitwick had since enjoyed immense popularity. Ginny wouldn't have really minded being in a room with other girls who hadn't been in her original year, but the screens were a blessing.

Arnold appeared to be blissfully happy to find himself on her pillow. He rolled around making snuffling noises and emitting little squeaks. Ginny grinned at him. "You're a happy little blighter, aren't you?" she asked fondly. Then, unable to ignore the pangs in her stomach, she threw open her trunk and found a large, badly wrapped sandwich sitting right at the top, just as she'd known she would.

"Thank you, Ron," she murmured. He made the best sandwiches, and this time was no different. He'd been generous with every ingredient; Ginny knew that it would barely fit in her mouth, which watered at the sight of it. She attacked it ferociously, and half of it was gone before she even bothered to open the cold bottle of butterbeer he'd also provided (though she knew that the cold and freshness charms were all Hermione). "I love you," she moaned. _I'm having my own little feast right here in my own little room_.

She patted her stomach, content. Her eyelids felt heavy and she yawned, knowing that she ought to hurry into her nightgown, otherwise she'd fall asleep right in her robes. She rifled through the trunk and pulled it out. So intent was she on getting out of her robes and into the nightgown as fast as she could that she almost didn't notice when a tiny bottle fell out of the folds and nearly rolled under the bed.

Dreamless Sleep Potion. _Mum must've packed it_, she thought. It shimmered in the low light. Ginny didn't really want to take it; she didn't want to have to. But her mind had played a trick on her and made some bloke look like Harry. And the nightmares that involved Harry jumping in front of a Killing Curse aimed at her were almost worse than the ones that starred Fenrir Greyback, and Lucius and Draco Malfoy. She knew it wasn't really a real memory; the exact details of her rescue and Voldemort's defeat had been lost in a fog, though she knew that it was absurd to expect that Harry had somehow survived it twice.

And he was still alive, that much she knew. He kept in very sporadic contact with the Lupins.

"I don't want to be a troll tomorrow," she said out loud. Not on the first day of classes. She was never at her best after a nightmare. With a sigh, she tipped it back and swallowed it down. Stumbling over to the bed, she pulled the crimson covers back and slid in, careful to spread her hair out across the pillow. Arnold liked to use it as a nest. Sure enough, he bumped over to her and made a series of squeaks and murmurs and rooted near her ear.

"I love you too, Arnold," she said sleepily. And she slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep unmarred by nightmare or dream.

_It has been three years, two months, and nineteen days since Malfoy Manor, and I am safe_.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

The drive was still empty, but Harry felt unaccountably nervous as he waited for the students to approach the castle. He couldn't quite believe that he was standing here. Back at Hogwarts. It was surreal. And everything was the opposite of what it had been. He was expected to call his old professors by their first names. He'd already been shown to the lounge reserved for professors; it was entirely different from the Gryffindor common room. It wasn't as warm, for one, and the coloring was wrong: muted colors, as opposed to vivid. But even he could admit that it was the absence of a red-haired wizard and a bushy-haired witch that made it seem wrong.

"How are you, my boy?" Horace Slughorn said enthusiastically. He looked exactly the same as he had years ago.

"I'm fine," said Harry, so happy he was at the distraction that he overlooked the fact that Slughorn -- or 'Horace' as he must now call him -- had an ambitious gleam in his eyes. "And yourself?"

The large wizard patted his belly. "Fat and lazy, dear boy. Now! About you -- far more interesting than me, I'm sure -- where have you been? You've been avoiding the public eye--"

"--as much as I can," said Harry. "And I've been... around. I've traveled some."

"Always modest," he said comfortably, peering at Harry with eyes that were far too shrewd.

Harry glanced back at the drive. He could see several students leading the rest of them, though he could not yet make out their faces. He looked around for some way of escape, and saw Professor McGonagall standing just inside the Great Hall -- she could distract him from his nerves just as easily as Horace, and was less annoying at that. "Excuse me," he said, and hurried over.

Several minutes later, there was a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Harry had been speaking to Minerva McGonagall ("Call me Minerva, Harry," she'd ordered him) and he'd caught a glimpse of what might have been a Weasley head, and all of a sudden he was a student again. Ron would come through those doors at any moment, starving, and moaning about the food he wanted to eat. Hermione would be scolding him for poor manners and lack of attention span. And Harry would be sixteen again...

With effort, he turned away from the open doors and bent his head to listen to her again. "I'm sorry?" he murmured.

"I asked how it is for you to be back here," she said. "We haven't seen you in these last few years," she added delicately. He took this to mean that she knew that he'd spent the last few years running and hiding. He supposed he should've expected it; she'd been part of the Order of the Phoenix, after all, and it wasn't like it was a secret. He was only thankful that she hadn't come out and called him a coward like Remus had done.

"It's strange," he admitted. When Flitwick had contacted him just last week, his first reaction had been to refuse. He'd become quite comfortable in his solitude, and the idea of coming to Hogwarts and teaching students to defend themselves against the Dark Arts had been almost laughable. And yet he'd sent off the owl with his acceptance -- and stipulations -- the very next morning. And here he was. "I feel young again." She seemed about to reply -- perhaps about to claim that twenty one was still young -- but seemed to think better of it.

"I'm sure you'll be a fine professor," she said finally. "Speaking of young, would you like to take care of the sorting? I usually do it, but..."

"No, I don't think so," Harry refused as politely as he could. And before he could begin (yet again) to dwell on all the reasons why he shouldn't be around small children (he had a special knack for ensuring that those who hung around him long enough were exposed to the cruelties of the world), he asked, "How have you been? How has it been since the war?"

"We've recovered," she said. She looked out over the laughing, milling students. The slight Notice-Me-Not Charm he'd used appeared to be working. The younger witches and wizards did not stop to gawk, nor did they stare. Harry did not see one person do the familiar double-take upon seeing his scar. It was refreshing. "The Carrows did a lot of damage, not least of which was a few of the... older students were a bit too enthusiastic about using the Unforgivables."

"I won't tolerate that," Harry said in a hard voice. "If I ever see them using the Unforgivables against each other, I'll send them straight to the Ministry." _Especially the Imperius Curse_. He regretted his outburst when he saw how taken aback Minerva was.

"We've mostly gotten rid of that problem," she assured him after a long pause. She eyed him speculatively, and Harry had a feeling that he knew what was coming. Not even Remus could restrain himself, and Dora was constantly trying to challenge him whenever he was around (though that was about twice a year). "Harry... what happened?"

This was his absolute least favorite question in the world, though "are you all right?" came a close second. Voldemort's defeat had come at a heavy price, and no matter how hard he tried, Harry just couldn't forget. He vaguely remembered being young enough to think that it would be a happy occasion, though those delusions had died at Malfoy Manor. But this was Professor McGonagall -- Minerva -- and he felt slightly guilty about refusing to answer. "Voldemort died," he said shortly. It might have been different had it been his secret to tell. His hand twitched; he'd been about to ruffle his hair, a nervous habit he thought he'd broken long ago when he'd first realized that if people knew he regretted not telling them the truth of what had happened they pressed him even harder.

She nodded once. "That's fair."

"Thanks," Harry said, relieved. She glanced at him sharply, and he thought she might understand that the events of three years ago did not resemble a heroic tale. There had been so many articles after the war speculating about the defeat and Ginny's involvement in it. He hated the fact that he was made out to be some knight in shining armor when if that had been the case, he would've gotten there months before he actually had. _Months_.

"You'd best get up to the staff table, Harry," she said. He knew a dismissal when he heard one.

He was halfway there when he realized, with a start, that he probably looked as sullen as Snape always had. He almost touched his untidy hair again, but this time to make sure that he hadn't gone a few weeks without washing it. He tried to think of what Ron might say, but couldn't quite manage it. Hermione was easy (A horrified gasp, then: "You haven't planned out any of the lessons? Harry!"), and so was Mrs. Weasley ("You need your food, dear, I'd better see you take third helpings during the feast."). But as he threw himself into his chair (feeling like a teenager again as he did so) and, nerves jangling, tried to imagine what they would say to if him were he at the Burrow... he couldn't manage it.

Not anymore.

Harry watched as the incoming first years were sorted. There seemed to be an inordinate amount of Gryffindors; he clapped right along with the others as the last three (Rachel Wiggins, Wilfred Winte, and Robert Zell) joined Harry's old house. It might have been just him, but they seemed very small, and he briefly wondered if they'd started to allow in nine year olds. Don't be silly, he told himself. Ron might say that Britain's population was just getting shorter -- he might've even blamed it on Fred and George...

Flitwick stood up; Harry was grateful that his thoughts had been interrupted. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," the tiny headmaster squeaked. He'd done the Sonorus Charm on himself, but the students in back still strained to listen. "Before we begin the feast"--here it comes, Harry thought, grimly satisfied--"I'd like to offer a very special toast." Sparkling goblets of pumpkin juice appeared before every plate. "You students have the opportunity to study under the best; I myself have always thought so -- especially since I became the Charms professor..." A few students tittered. Harry didn't agree that he was the best -- even if he did have the Elder Wand -- but it would be churlish to argue.

"First," the headmaster said, lifting his own goblet. The teachers followed suit, and so did the students. Harry swept his eye from row to row. "Let's toast to the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor itself -- may it always fill a headmaster's life with the excitement of trying to find someone to fill it."

Chuckling, Harry sipped along with the rest of them, though he had no real need to. He had to appreciate Flitwick's wiles -- it seemed rather more Slytherin than Ravenclaw of him. But whatever methods had been used -- and he trusted Flitwick to not use anything dark, nor anything illegal -- it could only be for the best that the students would not be able to share who was teaching them Defense Against the Dark Arts. There would be fewer interruptions.

Keep telling yourself that. It sounded like Sirius at his most acerbic. Harry ignored it.

"Now... you have a new professor this year," said Flitwick. "Though I don't think you'll need an introduction once you see his face."

Harry grimaced inwardly, stood up, and took off the Notice-Me-Not Charm. The students were silent and confused for a good ten seconds. Then:

"It's Harry Potter!" shrieked a young Hufflepuff. She looked quite beside herself.

"Indeed, Professor Potter has graciously agreed to teach this year," Flitwick said, sounding quite delighted. Harry couldn't help but wonder if a flare for the dramatic was a requirement of headmaster.Professor Potter. It sounded strange. He wondered if the Marauder's Map would have anything sarcastic to say if he called himself that. He had a feeling that Mr. Padfoot would have something to say about it, and Mr. Moony might even express astonishment. It would think that Professor Potter was James, not Harry, but still...

He smiled vaguely at the crowd while they expressed shock and amazement. He sat down to thunderous applause and wondered if he'd ever get used to that. For the millionth time, he wondered what the hell he was thinking when he'd agreed to do this. It had been rash and stupid, and now he was in way over his head just because a small part of him had wanted to give back to the school that had shaped him.

He left the Great Hall as soon as it was decent to do so. He didn't need to stay for the end; he already knew what the rules were (he'd been given a comprehensive list by Minerva, along with the admonishment that he'd have to enforce them), and he'd set his own password for his quarters. But he had no intention of going there just yet. The sun was down, the moon was up, the wind was just right. And, most especially, Harry was back at Hogwarts and he wanted to fly.

Five minutes later, he soared through the air on the Firebolt he'd bought to replace the one Sirius had bought for him. The wind ruffled his hair. He bent low over the broom and sent it to the top of its speed until it made a continuous sound that was half whoosh, half scream. He chased the moon across the sky and hovered so close above the lake that if he made one sudden move, he'd tumble in.

_If the rest of the year is just like this, it might not be so bad..._

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

_I just deleted 11 chapters of another story that I've been working on. I can't freaking believe it. I'm so pissed off -- I didn't do it on purpose, and I don't have the chapters even on my stupid computer. _

_And to answer a question: I made Ginny two years younger than she actually is on purpose._


	3. Act Naturally

02 September 2001

The sky was still dark when Ginny woke up. She dressed in the pre-dawn chill, shivering and hopping on one foot. The sleep had been excellent, only marred by Demelza and Emma chattering excitedly about something, but Ginny had blearily activated the charm that blocked out noise, and had sunk down into a dreamless sleep once more. A brief glance told her, as she was leaving, that the other two girls hadn't embraced the total privacy the way she had: their screens were folded open. Demelza's arm poked out of the bed hangings.

Nimbus 2121 firmly in hand, Ginny went down the stairs and crawled through the portrait hole. She was so anxious to get into the air that she was practically running, and the only reason why she wasn't was because she had the presence of mind to keep her speed to a trot. The small bag that carried Arnold and his things bumped against her legs. Just as she leapt down the last few steps, she remembered with a guilty start that she hadn't owled her mother last night like she'd promised.

_I'll just fly for a little while_, she thought. _Then I'll write_. It would be simple to write while eating; flying and eating, however, was a bit trickier to manage, though she'd done it when she'd wanted to spend all of her time soaring above the world. Before she'd had Arnold to worry about. The sun peeked over the horizon by the time she reached the pitch, though Hogwarts was still in the shadow of the mountains. She checked to make sure Arnold was comfortable. "I'll be back," she promised.

And then she kicked off and immediately felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She barrel rolled and raced across the pitch. The wind was in her face and she closed her eyes and flew from memory, weaving in and out of the posts. After a half hour of just flight, she practiced some of the more complicated Chaser moves, and (despite the unfortunate name) the broom responded to her every whim. Ginny was free and alive and she didn't have to think or remember.

She touched back down on the earth with great reluctance. _Why can't Hogwarts be a school for just Quidditch?_ she thought grumpily, wiping off her sweaty face and performing a freshening charm (one her mother had taught her, and it was one of the best spells Ginny knew) on her clothes. Arnold was poking out of his little bag and peeping up at her in excitement. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, and feeling the familiar sensation of Arnold's claws digging into her robes as he climbed up her arm to find his favorite perch: her shoulder. By this time, her stomach was rumbling quite loudly.

"Time to eat," she said.

The Great Hall was mostly empty. It was almost an hour until the first class, and generally everyone slept late on the first day of term. She loaded a plate with eggs and sausages, pulled a piece of parchment and a quill out of her book bag, and took a few bites.

_Dear Mum,_

_Sorry I didn't write last night. I ended up going to bed very early; please tell Ron and Hermione thank you for the sandwich -- I didn't make it to the Welcoming Feast. I slept very well, and got up early today to practice Quidditch. I'm really excited about the new season._

Ginny paused to spear a sausage, and glanced around the room for inspiration. The staff table was also nearly empty -- only Professor Sprout and Professor Vector sat chatting over the paper and a cup of coffee. No sign yet of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

_I still don't know who the DADA professor is. I hope he (or she) is good, unlike some of my earlier professors. Ask Ron if he remembers Umbridge. But Flitwick has a good record, so I'm not too worried. Robards was decent. _

She stared down at the parchment, unwilling to just end it there, but unable to come up with anything else. Just when she was about to give up, an owl she recognized as Bill's dropped a package in front of her. It was Fleur's handwriting on the card, but all it read was: _For Ginny_. Feeling a bit of trepidation, she opened it and found a long, silky nightgown with short sleeves. Ginny's face immediately turned bright red and she glanced around, praying that no one had noticed. She slammed the brown paper back down to hide it. "Damn it," she swore. _Who sends pajamas to people while they're eating breakfast? Anyone might have seen!_

At least now she had something else to write to her mum about.

_I just got a package from Fleur. Right here at the breakfast table. It's a nightgown; it's very nice, but it looks like it would be far too cold. Tell her I said thanks for thinking of me._

__

Tell Dad I said hi.

_Love,  
Ginny_

She had just finished writing her letter and was about to seal the envelope when Professor McGonagall swooped down on her. The Head of Gryffindor House (who would have been headmistress, had she not refused) looked uncharacteristically concerned. Ginny had gotten used to those looks, but had thought the professor had gotten over the habit. _She must have seen the pajamas_.

To her horror and annoyance, the professor sat down beside her, legs facing outward.

"I have your time table," she said, handing over a thick piece of parchment. Ginny barely glanced at it before setting it on top of Fleur's package.

"Thanks," said Ginny. _Please go away_.

"Are you all right?"

Ginny tried very hard to keep her annoyance off her face, but she didn't think she was very successful. "I'm fine," she said with heavy emphasis.

"You're sure?" she pressed. Ginny scooted away from her.

_Does she think I'm so pathetic that I'm going to completely lose my head about a nightgown?_

"It's only a little annoying," she explained. "That's all." _Don't ask me any more questions_.

The professor's eyebrows flew upward and then furrowed together. Her lips compressed in a thin line. She was very intent on studying Ginny's face. Thankfully, Ginny didn't have to put on a mask at all. Fleur's gift was a bit annoying, and it had been embarrassing to receive it at breakfast when everyone could see, but it wasn't that big of a deal. Just when she was about to grab her things and go, Professor McGonagall smiled.

"I'm so happy you feel that way," she said.

"Er -- thanks," said Ginny.

"I was worried," she admitted. "Now -- I'm sure you want to put that away before the class. You don't want to be late, do you?"

"No," Ginny said slowly. She felt very relieved when McGonagall left, robes swishing away. After staring at her back for a few confused moments, she looked down at Eclipse, Bill's owl. "Would you mind taking this to Mum for me?" she asked. "Save me a trip to the owlery?" The regal owl deigned to hold out his leg, and Ginny attached the letter with a bit of string. "Damn!" she said, just as Eclipse spread his wings. "Sorry, Eclipse, I forgot!"

When she'd first gone back to school after nearly a year at home, her mother and father had insisted that she have a symbol to show that it was really her writing the letters under her own free will, as they had been fooled by Lucius Malfoy's Imperius Curse. She didn't even want to think about how they'd react to a letter without that mark. Probably something humiliating. Ginny didn't feel the need for more of that, so she unsealed the letter and drew her symbol, a lightning bolt, at the bottom.

"There, thanks," she said. Eclipse eyed her with disdain. She made a face at him, and he spread his wings and flew off.

She lagged behind the sudden rush to leave, not feeling any particular hurry to put her broom away and head off to class. Adjusting the things in her arms (much to Arnold's delight), she peeked down at her time table. Defense Against the Dark Arts. There could be worse ways to spend the morning. A lot worse. Though she supposed it depended on the professor.

Thirty minutes later, Ginny was very late, and she walked swiftly down the corridor to the classroom. She hadn't meant to let time get away with her, but she'd sat down at the end of her bed, thinking about starting the new term, and it seemed as though twenty minutes had passed while she blinked. Compound to that--

CRASH!

Ginny, Arnold, and her books clattered to the ground. She sat for a moment, completely stunned.

"Watch where you're going," said a snide voice.

Ginny's face burned. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, gathering her things.

"Don't let it happen again," he said. His voice was too close to her ear and she scrambled away, finally looking up. It was a Slytherin in the year behind her; he was short and broad and had a large, fleshy mouth. Ginny met his eyes for a moment as she stood, and then the Slytherin (she thought he might be called Pollux Sennet) let his eyes travel up and down her body in such a way that Ginny wished she still allowed herself to wear the invisibility cloak between classes.

She backed away. Any minute now--

"You're the Weasley girl, aren't you?" he said, as though delighted.

Bending her head over her books, she ignored him and continued on. _I'm not running away from him_, she told herself. _I'm trying to get to Defense on time_. But she couldn't deny the fact that the look in his eyes -- and the recognition that some of the Slytherins and even a Hufflepuff or two showed upon hearing her name -- made her feel as though she'd swallowed a potion that made the contents of her stomach froth and bubble.

So despite the fact that she was already late -- on the first day, no less -- she leaned up against the stone wall outside of the classroom and rested her head against it. Arnold, as though sensing her distress, chirped in her ear. _Get ahold of yourself_, she thought angrily. _He was just a stupid boy_.

She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

Ginny immediately sought to look for the professor, to apologize for being late. She caught a glimpse of everyone's faces -- they looked eager and attentive which was highly unusual -- and then she saw the reason why.

He looked the same as he always had, though he was taller and had broader shoulders. His hair still stuck up in all directions. Same thin face, even though it was still in profile.

"Try not to make a habit of being late," he said, and turned to her. "I don't think--"

And for the first time in three years, two months, and twenty days, her eyes met the very familiar green of Harry Potter's. Her very first instinct was to flee, but a small, defiant part of her inexplicably seized control, and Ginny watched, as though looking down at herself from above, as her feet carried her to the seat near the window in the back of the room.

And he continued to stare at her, completely and utterly shocked.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

02 September 2001

Later, Harry thought that he ought to have known the day would only get worse. He'd spent too much time flying the night before, and he had slept in so late that he'd missed breakfast. He also hadn't had a lot of time in the shower; his morning wank had to be skipped. Not only that, but he still only had a vague idea of what he was actually going to teach (he figured that he'd just have mock duels with the older classes).

By a happy circumstance -- or so he thought -- he had seventh year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws first.

"We're going to have mock duels," he said. The class appeared more attentive than he ever remembered being, and this made his nerves jangle even more. "The first two weeks of class will be you lot showing me how much you know."

One nervous girl lifted her hand in the air. "What if we don't know anything, sir?" Harry was reminded strongly of Hermione, who had never liked to be surprised by professors either.

"Then we'll start from the beginning," he said easily. "But I bet you'll be surprised by what you do and don't know."

A Gryffindor boy -- Harry delved back in his memory for a name to match the vaguely familiar face and came up with Michael Quork -- leaned back in his chair and said, "Speaking of that... are you going to share what really happened with You-Know-Who?"

_Gryffindor indeed_, Harry thought wryly. "He died," Harry answered. He looked away from the class and out the window. He didn't want to be rude, but he needed to be firm about his boundaries. "That's all you need to know," he continued. Thankfully, he heard the door open just then: a welcome distraction. "Try not to make a habit of being late," he said, turning toward the door. "I don't think--"

_Ginny Weasley_.

Whatever he had been about to say died in his throat and he could only stare. Same bright red hair, fair skin, and brown eyes. She looked exactly the same, only older. For a moment he thought she was about to run (her eyes flicked over to the closing door), but she straightened her spine and made her way to the furthest chair from him. And for a moment he was back at Malfoy Manor and feeling a rage so intense that it exploded and bodies had littered the floor. It was as though a cloud had passed over the sun.

But underneath it all, he felt a strange pride in her for keeping her back straight and her chin up.

The rest of the students stared avidly between the two of them and Harry, with great effort, reminded himself that they had left Malfoy Manor three years ago. _Has it been three years already?_

"Er," he said. "Pair up and practice on each other -- just jinxes; no hexes or curses or I'll hand out detention like the trolley lady on the Hogwarts Express hands out Chocolate Frogs. I'm not looking for what spells you know; mostly I want to check your reflexes."

They obeyed with alacrity, and Harry tried to watch them carefully, but there seemed to be a fog in his mind. He was acutely aware of Ginny; whenever she moved, he seemed to catch it out of the corner of his eye. She should have graduated last year. He'd been so secure in his assumption that she wouldn't be at Hogwarts, that he had not even considered it when he had decided to teach. But now that he actually thought about it, he realized how stupid he'd been. He knew that the Muggleborns who had been forced into hiding had had to repeat a year. And Ginny... she'd been taken. And she would've needed time to recover. She wouldn't have gone back to school right away. Of course.

_You're a moron_, he told himself.

He moved automatically between the students, adjusting grips and demonstrating when needed. He avoided the group of three Gryffindor girls, of which Ginny was one, and tried to mask this deliberate oversight by being more effusive than he would normally have been. This plan successfully got him through the class.

Ginny was the first to leave. He watched her go and noticed, for the first time, a little pygmy puff peeking out of the collar of her robes. She was still quite small, and seeing her again hurt him in a place he'd forgotten about.

He immediately sought out Professor McGonagall, and paced the corridor his entire free hour between his classes while she taught a group of third years.

Harry shuffled from foot to foot, waiting for the second years to leave the Transfiguration classroom. He grew angrier by the second, and the moment the last Hufflepuff left, he exploded.

"Didn't you even warn her?"

McGonagall gaped at him. She had a moment of confusion before Harry saw comprehension dawn in her eyes. Her brow furrowed. "I presume you're speaking of Ginny Weasley?"

"Yes," he bit off. He was deeply uncomfortable with speaking so to his old professor, but the shock on Ginny's face had enraged him. It was one thing for him; he ought to have known that she'd still be at Hogwarts. But her? A small voice in the back of his head told him that it was his fault. If he hadn't insisted on secrecy... "She had no idea that I was here until she walked into my class."

"But we spoke of it just this morning at breakfast," she said. "She said that it was a bit annoying, but nothing upsetting."

_A bit annoying_, he thought. _Not likely_. He prowled around. _I should just leave. I should go back to Grimmauld Place and Remus Lupin can shove his pep talks right up his arse_.

"Don't you dare think about leaving," McGonagall said sharply. She stood behind her desk, and for a moment it appeared that she loomed over him as she had when he was in his first year, and he and Ron had been late for class. "You can't. You've signed a contract. Besides," her nostrils flared and her lips thinned. "I thought you had more honor than that."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "But if she--"

"Ginevra Weasley is not made of glass," McGonagall said sternly. "She's eighteen years old, and she's in Gryffindor."

Harry heard the words, but didn't take them in. It was true; he couldn't leave without suffering severe repercussions. He hadn't exactly been very attentive to the contract, but even he knew that they were strictly enforced by magical law. Fiddling with the Elder Wand, Harry wished he knew what she was thinking. Briefly, he considered using Legilimency, but he rebelled at the thought. Ginny had been violated enough without him intruding on her personal thoughts.

"If she's upset," he said. "If she can't handle it, then I'm gone."

"I suggest you take that up with the headmaster," she said waspishly. Her eyes flashed behind her glasses. Harry could practically feel himself shrink and become younger. "And I'd wager he'll say the same thing I just did. You have a contract."

"Why didn't you take that post anyway?" Harry asked grudgingly. He'd been wondering for a while, and he was grumpy and unsettled enough not to care.

"Why haven't you been seen by anyone you care about in years?" she countered. She made shooing motions at him, which rankled. "You have first years next, I believe? You'll want to set a good example, and that includes being on time."

Harry looked away, wondering how he could focus on something like teaching a bunch of eleven year olds how not to get killed. Not when he'd just been confronted with the very worst of his past.

"You'll be fine," she said. Her voice had softened somewhat. "Good luck."

It was an unmitigated disaster.

It started out well enough. Harry had slid in when the bell rang; technically, he'd been exactly on time. What appeared to be hundreds of students (though, in reality, it had only been twenty four) turned to face him with tiny, expectant faces. He grimaced inwardly.

"Er, good morning," he said. They replied back to him in high voices, sounding far too eager. One little Hufflepuff girl had auburn hair, and an image of Ginny at that age popped into his head. It had been the year of the Triwizard Tournament, and she'd been a cheering section all by herself.

Harry stared around at them, mind racing. When he'd made his rather vague plans, he had forgotten the fact that first years knew nothing. He'd planned to have them all have a go at each other like the seventh years, but now that he was actually standing in front of them, he realized how stupid he'd been. How could he expect them to know anything? Some of them were likely Muggleborns.

"Now," he said, just because the silence had stretched too long and he needed to break it. "Who can tell me what they know about Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

They all looked around at each other; Harry thought he might've seen one or two of the Ravenclaws start to hyperventilate. One brave boy raised his hand. "It's battling evil?" he said in a tentative voice.

"Right," Harry said bracingly. He paused for a few beats too long. Pretty soon, the first years would know that he had no clue what he was doing. And the large part of him that was still staring at Ginny Weasley in shock did not even care. "Evil is..." he wracked his brain. "It's got a lot of heads," he admitted.

"How can evil have heads?" a Hufflepuff boy asked. He sounded belligerent and Harry tried not to dislike him immediately.

"It's a metaphor," Harry explained. He remembered that it had been Snape who had come up with that particular one, and he felt a burst of the familiar dislike. "There's lots of evil in the world. It isn't just hiding under rocks or only comes out at night. It's there, somewhere, all day every day."

They murmured.

Harry ignored them. He was starting to warm up to the topic. "The reason why we teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at such a young age is because you've got to know how to defend yourself. I came face to face with Voldemort himself at the end of my first year. He was possessing a professor; his head was covered up by a turban..."

He stared around at them. They gaped at him; their eyes were round with shock and fear, and he felt a little tremble of guilt. "Not that you'll meet any dark wizards this year, I don't think," he said. "Voldemort's gone, you know, and the Aurors have done a fine job of hunting down the Death Eaters." He hadn't wanted to make it sound that they would also be facing a two-headed, turbaned professor. He turned around to show him the back of his head. "See," he chuckled a little. "No Voldemort in the back of my head, and the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers are always the ones who turn out funny. At least in my experience."

This did not help.

Harry scratched the back of his neck, wondering why he had to be so mental. The first years were either staring at him in confusion, fear, or excitement (in the case of a dark-haired Ravenclaw who inexplicably reminded him of Ron). "Listen..." he said. "I think we should all learn how to disarm each other. That's what we'll do. Line up in pairs, please."

"What's the use of learning how to disarm?" asked the eager Ravenclaw. "We should learn hexes! Or curses! What if some mad dark wizard comes to possess one of us? What then?"

Harry groaned inwardly.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

02 September 2001

Arthur, Molly, Ron, and Hermione sat around the kitchen table at the Burrow, pretending that they weren't waiting for Ginny's first letter to arrive. Molly fiddled around with the floral arrangement at the center (the flowers had most of their heads cut off thanks to Teddy Lupin and his pruning techniques), while Ron and Hermione whispered quietly to each other. Arthur stared at his folded hands and told himself that she was all right. The danger had passed, and there was very little chance of her being taken again.

"I hope she liked the sandwich," Ron said, breaking the silence.

"I'm sure she did, dear," Molly said distractedly. She kept one eye on the open window. Arthur frowned. He was glad of his son's thoughtfulness, but he wished that his Ginny could go to the Welcoming Feast. A soft, warm hand patted his. "I think she was better with you this summer, my love," his wife said gently.

Molly meant well, but Arthur knew that his relationship with his daughter would never be the same again. She could barely even look at him, and he couldn't blame her. He was supposed to have protected her. He ought to have noticed that her letters had sounded odd, stilted. They never should have attributed that to her being at a school with Death Eaters for teachers.

"Thank you," he said quietly. He closed his eyes. "I just... I was very careless with something very precious."

"Don't," Ron said warningly. His face was very white; he looked quite furious. "The Death Eaters did it. Voldemort did it."

Arthur knew this. But he also knew that he shared in the blame. Ginny was his little girl, and he should have protected her. Ron did not have a daughter; he couldn't possibly understand the anguish, and Arthur prayed that he never would. No father should have to see his daughter's brutalized body.

Molly abruptly got up from the table and got the family clock out of the laundry basket where she'd left it earlier in the afternoon. "It's late," she fretted. "We should have heard from her by now if she sent an owl last night." She smoothed the worn wood with her hands. And despite the fact that Arthur knew what he would see, he glanced over anyway.

It had expanded over the years. Bill, Fleur, and Victoire were a little cluster pointing toward Shell Cottage. Charlie and Percy were both at work (though Arthur had never imagined that two of his sons could have such different careers), and the twins were pointing at 'Out' (Arthur did not want to know what they were doing). The hands belonging to Arthur, Molly, Ron, and Hermione were at 'Home.'

And two hands pointed to 'Malfoy Manor.'

For a very long time, they had spun around the clock, never landing anywhere. Not even 'lost.' Arthur remembered the day that Ginny had discovered this; she'd nearly destroyed the clock before Percy had stopped her. Molly had hidden it, and another six months had gone by before she'd thought to add 'Malfoy Manor' as a destination.

Sometimes they all -- Molly included -- wished she hadn't thought of it. There was something heartbreaking about seeing proof that neither Ginny nor Harry had ever really come home from there.

"You haven't--"

"No," Ron shook his head. "I would've told you if I'd heard from him, you know that."

After the horrible first week, Arthur had gone looking for Harry himself. But he'd never been found. Kingsley Shacklebolt had said that he'd performed the Fidelius Charm for Harry. Harry did not want to be found by anyone, least of all anyone with the last name Weasley. His seventh son. He wasn't even sure if Harry knew that he had a hand on the Weasley clock; Ginny had snuck into Ron's bedroom and stolen a bit of his hair right before Bill's wedding. Arthur suspected that Harry had no idea how well he was loved, otherwise he would not have stayed away.

Though a small, horrible part of him was relieved that he had. How would Ginny have handled it? Arthur was aware that they coddled her; but none of them knew exactly what had happened or how deeply his presence might affect his daughter. He hated to think that Harry's absence from his family was a blessing in disguise, but he never really knew how Ginny would react to something until she did.

For what felt like the millionth time, Arthur wished that Harry had saved a Death Eater for him to kill.

"Is that Eclipse?" Hermione asked suddenly, standing up and leaning over Ron's shoulder to peer out the window. A moment later, Bill's owl, bearing a letter with Ginny's handwriting on the envelope, soared in and dropped his burden in Molly's lap.

She opened it, eyes immediately falling to the bottom of the page. "It's there," she said in a tone of great relief. Tension was immediately released from Arthur's shoulders. The lightning bolt symbol was their safety net. If Ginny were under the Imperius Curse again, she would not draw it on the bottom of the page. And they would know that something was happening.

Rationally, Arthur knew that it wouldn't happen again, but...

"I wish he knew that she chose his scar as her safe sign," Ron admitted, scrubbing his face with his hand.

"You have to assume that Harry's being rational," Hermione pointed out. "You know how he is about guilt and self-blame. I'm sure he feels responsible."

"Git," Ron said, though there was little heat behind it. Ron hadn't been angry with Harry since he'd seen where his hand pointed, though before that, his rage at what he'd called Harry's "reckless abandonment" had been terrible.

"What did Ginny say?" Arthur interrupted the oft-repeated discussion.

"Fleur sent her that nightgown," Molly said, frowning. "I knew she would hate it--"

"It wasn't that bad," Hermione assured Arthur and Ron. "Quite modest. I'll bet it was the material that Ginny hated."

"It's silk," Molly elucidated. "It's quite pretty, actually." But Ginny was very particular about such things. "She also says that she has no idea who the new professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts is -- how would she? She didn't go to the Welcoming Feast."

"Kingsley said that Flitwick had to really search for someone suitable," Arthur murmured.

"Sounds familiar," Ron said wryly.

"She thanks the both of you for the sandwich," Molly added. "And that's it."

It was Arthur's turn to take his wife's hand. She gazed down at the letter, blinking rather rapidly. "I just want her to come home," Molly said in a voice that shook slightly. Arthur knew that she didn't mean she wanted Ginny home from Hogwarts. "Both of them."

"I want to hear her laugh again," Arthur said. "And I'd like to talk to Harry about Muggle things."

Ron looked sheepish. "I sort of miss the way she used to mock me. She was just as bad as the twins... funnier, too. And Hermione's all right"--he squeezed her shoulder--"but it'd be nice to run off and do bloke things every once in a while."

"I just wish they'd come home," Hermione echoed Molly. She stroked Ron's hand and stared down at the table.

Arthur couldn't help but wonder if they dreamed too big.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

03 September 2001

The invisibility cloak was smooth and slippery in Ginny's fingers. She sat at the end of her four-poster bed and played with it. It represented security. Whenever she didn't want to be seen, she would put it on. Despite the fact that she could accomplish the same thing with a Disillusionment Charm, Ginny never felt quite as, well, invisible as she did wearing the cloak.

Part of it came from the fact that it was his.

Ginny had returned to finish her fourth year after the Easter holidays a year after Malfoy Manor. By that time, everyone had given up hope (and, in Ginny's case, hope mixed with dread) that Harry would return. He'd not even come back for the things he'd valued most: his father's cloak, the Marauder's Map, and not even the photo album that Hagrid had made for him.

She'd felt guilty at taking it, but Hermione had insisted. Harry obviously wasn't coming back, and if he did, he wouldn't begrudge her the use of the cloak. He'd want her to use it. And so she'd had the advantage of a little extra security.

The thought of giving it back, as she knew she ought, filled her with anxiety. _It's his_, she thought firmly. _It was his father's_. And Harry had very little in the way of family heirlooms; surely he had been missing it. And she hated that stupid, selfish part of her that wanted to pretend like she didn't have it. _It's his, and it was his dad's_, she told herself. It had been one thing to use it when she hadn't any idea where he was and he'd made himself Unplottable so that owls carrying parcels couldn't reach him.

But it would be quite another to keep it knowing that he was sleeping in this very castle and she could walk right up to him tomorrow and hand it over.

She flopped back on the bed, cloak dangling over the side and trailing on the floor. The idea of actually going up to Harry -- _Professor Potter_ -- and talking to him was nearly as unnerving as going without a cloak that offered impenetrable protection.

He'd seen her, and she couldn't forget that.


	4. All the Lonely People

17 September 2001 - 29 September 2001

Considering the fact that he hadn't spoken to her at all, and avoided looking at her as much as he could, Harry had learned a lot of things about Ginny.

Harry knew that she had a pygmy puff that was pretty much attached to her wherever she went. His name was Arnold, and he was the only living thing she willingly touched. He noticed that while she had friends, she mostly ate alone; he saw her usually at breakfast. Her hair was always wind-tossed as though she spent a great deal of time outside, and while she smiled once in a while, it never really made it to her eyes. And he hadn't yet heard her laugh, though she might when he wasn't around.

Something told him that she didn't.

She didn't often show up for dinner; Harry knew this because he arrived early and loitered long after he was full. He never made it to lunch (he always seemed to be scrambling to figure out just what he was going to do with his classes), so he didn't know if she chose to make that her main meal of the day.

It surprised him that he noticed all of this despite the fact that he tried not to look at her. Her voice echoed from the past: don't look at me... Harry wasn't certain, but he thought she might still want him to look away.

Almost three weeks into classes, Harry spoke to her for the first time.

Rain battered the windows, and he'd actually had to perform a Heating Charm on the classroom. He was reminded of the year the dementors had been breeding out of control and the whole of Britain had lay under an unnatural mist. The winter had seemed to come on early then, too. The seventh year students were just warming up and taking off their cloaks when Ginny walked in. Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as she took her seat and threw her cloak and scarf over her chair. She looked quite grumpy.

For some perverse reason, this made him want to smile.

It was another practical lesson, and Ginny, Demelza Robins, and Emma Dobbs were together again. Harry felt a bit guilty that he'd avoided them as though they had dragon pox, and forced himself to watch as Dobbs attempted to hit Robins with a Jelly-Legs Jinx. Robins, who was not very good with offensive spells (Harry had never seen her actually hit anyone with anything, though he was the first to admit that he'd been less than attentive to the three girls), was decent at throwing up Shield Charms. Ginny had her arms crossed over her chest.

"You're doing very well," he said. "All three of you," he forced himself to add. He saw Ginny give him a fleeting look before he retreated to the safer side of the classroom.

It didn't help his nerves that he kept expecting Ron and Hermione to burst through the doors (whether to the Great Hall, his classroom, or his private living quarters) at any moment. He developed rather elaborate fantasies in which Ron battered him for letting his little sister be brutalized and then again for leaving and not coming back. And he could see the angry disappointment on Hermione's face. But as the days passed and a horde of furious Weasleys did not descend on Hogwarts, Harry came to the conclusion that Ginny had not told her parents that he was her professor.

She was the only person in the castle who could; the rest had had a compulsion laid upon them that first night. Nothing dangerous, but whenever they tried to talk or write about him to someone outside the castle, they would find themselves babbling nonsense instead.

Harry had been quite proud of that little plan, though it was pretty much all for nothing. _That applies to the rest of your life as well, Harry, unless you grow a pair_, said a voice inside his head that sounded like a mixture of Sirius and Remus. He ignored it.

Two classes later, and Harry surprised himself by not only speaking directly to Ginny, but making eye contact with her as well.

After almost two weeks of strictly practical lessons, Harry had realized that he actually had to teach and not just adjust grips and pronunciation. So he set aside two days a week with the seventh years to actually teach them advanced spells and delve into the theory. He hated these occasions, and spent the two days before them alternating between dreading it and setting himself tasks that allowed him to procrastinate without feeling too guilty.

He sat cross-legged on his table and faced the room. He planned on talking about intent, and how it was important for spells, especially defensive spells. How many times had he talked to Dumbledore about this same topic? But in this moment, the only thing he could remember about it was completely inappropriate. "It's like wanking," Ron had said with a straight face. "You've got to really mean it and really work at it, otherwise nothing will come out of it."

"Now -- does anyone want to explain why you've got to really mean the magic?" Harry asked, after clearing his throat. His face burned, and he devoutly prayed that none of the students knew Legilimency.

No one said anything. Harry surreptitiously wiped his hand on his robes and wished he could think of an explanation that didn't involve opening up the subject of wanking. Rescue came from an unexpected quarter.

"The wand isn't disconnected from the brain or the heart," said Ginny. Harry turned his head toward her so fast that he gave himself whiplash; she was staring down at her desk, and her face was crimson, but Harry had the feeling that she'd just been looking at him. She stroked Arnold. "In many ways, magic goes where it's wanted most."

"Excellent, Ginny," he said. And suddenly he was able to push Ron's words out of his head and he leapt up from the desk. "Take this, for example." He pointed his wand at Euan Abercrombie. "Watch," he said. And a jet of blue light arced out and hit the dark-haired boy's head, turning it a mottled, pale blue. "Now, that was a bit half-hearted," he said. "But now... I'm standing here trying to prove a point, and if there isn't some sort of change, I'll be pretty humiliated. So I really, really want the spell to work."

He sent it again, and this time Abercrombie's head turned a deep, royal blue. Harry was relieved.

The rest of the class went rather well. Certainly better than his first and second year classes. After his disastrous first attempt at teaching young people, most of the students under the age of thirteen either believed he was possessed by Voldemort or a complete moron. He wasn't sure which rankled more.

_I'm either Quirrell or Lockhart_, he thought darkly two days later, as he led Benjamin Corner, the overly enthusiastic Ravenclaw boy who didn't think disarming was important, to the hospital wing. He remembered Ben's older brother, Michael, as being a member of the Defense Association, and cursed him for teaching his little brother hexes. The older Corner hadn't even had the decency to teach his brother not to hex himself.

Harry had been forced to allow the first years to leave class ten minutes early.

"You're not to hex yourself anymore," Harry said sternly.

"Am I meant to disarm myself, then?" Ben said through rapidly growing teeth. Harry was grudgingly impressed with the boy's ability to harm himself. He was only eleven, after all.

"You're lucky I can pretend I didn't understand you," Harry warned. The boy regarded him with a mixture of hero worship and confusion added to a healthy dose of disillusionment. Harry knew that he was battering down the boy's adoration, and it pleased him. Ben Corner had no idea that the simple disarming spell that he held in such contempt had been the ultimate downfall of Voldemort. Harry sometimes felt like telling him this, just to strip the rest of those illusions away, but stopped himself.

He pushed open the doors to the hospital wing.

"Back again, Professor Potter?" Madam Pomfrey said wearily. She was tending to someone, though her body hid the person from view. "I used to have a bed designated for your use. Now it's for your students, is it?"

Harry rubbed his neck sheepishly. "I told him not to do it," he said finally.

"I'll be right with you, Mr. Corner," she said bracingly. And she moved to reveal the patient: Ginny Weasley. _Of course_.

She held her hand close to her body; it was swollen to twice its normal size. Harry's brows slammed together. "What the hell happened to you?" he said loudly. A rage built up inside him that was so intense that he felt almost dizzy from it. He'd noticed that she hadn't been in class, but hadn't thought too much of it. _If someone had hurt her..._

"Professor Potter!" Madam Pomfrey's hands flew to her hips. "There is no need to shout in my hospital wing!"

Harry was too angry to point out the fact that she'd been far louder than he. He stared at Ginny, not caring that Ben stared between them avidly. Something in her eyes steadied him; she didn't have the broken, hurting look in them. She was poised, and though she gingerly held her arm to her side, he knew it was just a small injury. He'd already seen her in as much pain as someone could be in, and this wasn't it.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly to Madam Pomfrey. She made a huffing noise, but didn't press the issue.

"I fell off my broom," said Ginny.

Harry turned away, nodding. Embarrassment at his overreaction settled in his gut. He took a deep breath. "Tell me, Madam Pomfrey," he attempted a light, casual tone. "Can you fix his face? Or is he going to look like this for the rest of his life?"

Harry left as soon as he could.

After he'd humiliated himself in the hospital wing, his contact with her was negligible. He saw her during class, but not outside of it, unless he counted a very brief glimpse of her bright hair turning a corner or following behind a crowd at meal times.

Ginny was late to class on the last Friday of September. She was pale and shaking; whether this was due to fright or anger, Harry had no idea. He watched her carefully out the corner of his eye. She didn't appear to be listening to him; Arnold was in her hand. _I'll save the practical quiz for Monday_, he decided.

"All right," he said. "We're going to review. On your feet, wands out," he added.

Ginny knocked over her chair and sent the contents of her book bag flying. Arnold squeaked (Harry thought he might have been more excited than frightened). He was on the other side of the classroom, but was making his way over to help her when--

"Let me hold Arnold for you, Ginny," said the boy sitting nearest her. He held out his hand.

Ginny recoiled. "No!" she said sharply. She brought Arnold close to her chest. "No," she said in a softer voice. "Thank you for asking, but he doesn't like strangers." She tucked him in her collar where he immediately began to try to escape. Harry drew near enough that, when she bent over, he heard her mutter, "Fucking bag. Fucking chair."

And she sounded so irritable and so like how she used to sound when she'd first woken up at the Burrow during the summers he'd spent there that he forgot. "Has Ron finally rubbed off on you, Gin? I don't remember you having such a foul mouth," he teased.

Her head snapped up and she gaped at him. Something told Harry that she was about to respond in kind. For a fleeting moment, she had the same look on her face she used to get when she was about to tease Ron mercilessly: the grin blooming was a mixture of sly and honest enjoyment. But she closed down quickly.

Harry backed off, swishing his wand at the same moment, and setting her things right. He hopped over a desk and invented some excuse to correct one of his students, and he stayed away from her for the rest of the class.

Right after the class, during his free period, he was five steps behind her. And then he wasn't sure if she slowed down or he sped up, but they were suddenly walking side by side. He was a little surprised that she wasn't running away. He was even more surprised that he wasn't. He couldn't read her expression when he peeked; she barely came up to his shoulder. All he could see of her was her red hair and the tip of her nose.

He didn't say anything and neither did she. The silence stretched on uncomfortably, while Harry tried to force himself to say something, but nothing came. And then, inexplicably, the need to say anything died, and the tension broke and faded. His steps matched hers and led to the Great Hall.

"Thank you," she said.

"Anytime," he said.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

20 September 2001 - 30 September 2001

Three years, four months, and eight days after Malfoy Manor two things happened: Harry acknowledged Ginny for the first time (other than lumping her in with Demelza and Emma), and Ginny's ever-present desire to run out of his class vanished.

He'd just looked so helpless. It was obvious that he was completely unprepared to be a professor (when it came to talking, at least; he was the best at giving practical demonstrations), and he often had this mostly blank, slightly panicked expression on his face. He reminded Ginny so much of Arnold (for reasons that remained unknown) at those times, that it helped sooth her jangling nerves, and the voice chanting in her head that he'd seen her at her worst faded away into the background. It was still there, but it didn't blare in her ears anymore.

Three years, four months, and eleven days after Malfoy Manor, Ginny realized that if anyone wanted to talk less about what had happened at Malfoy Manor than her, it was Harry. It was a strange, new experience to encounter someone who had no desire to get her to talk about it.

She'd fallen off of her broom after miscalculating how much space she had to turn away from a tree; Madam Pomfrey had just finished patching her up when Harry had come in leading a first year. She'd had just enough time to remember -- with a mixture of guilt and amusement -- how it made her smile to think that Harry had terrorized his first years by giving them small details about his own time at Hogwarts. She shouldn't find it funny. She should find the idea of a crowd of first years debating in whispers whether or not Harry had Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head abhorrent.

But it had made her smile.

Harry noticed her behind Madam Pomfrey and had immediately wanted to attack something. She'd seen it in his eyes; his voice had cracked when he'd shouted at her. For one horrible moment, the past rose up inside her and she was once more in the dimly lit kitchen. She was shackled to the table, and when Harry said something she'd never heard anyone so angry.

If her parents or brothers had reacted the same way, she would have been furious and wouldn't have been able to speak to them for days. But he'd retreated from the moment so quickly, that she was once again forcibly reminded of Arnold, and how his entire body would flinch away from something that hurt.

He avoided her for an entire week. Not that he'd ever approached her for an actual conversation (for which she was fervently grateful, though that hurt too), but he stayed on the opposite side of the room from her and didn't look her way at all.

Letters from home and from her brothers arrived in a steady procession; she usually had at least one letter a day. And every time she sat down to tell them that Harry was here with her at Hogwarts, teaching (of all things), something stopped her. She knew all about the charm that stopped everyone from alerting the wider world to his presence. And she also knew that she hadn't been affected by it. Something else was stopping her, though she didn't know exactly what it was.

So she told them about Quidditch practices, how the captain was a slave-driver (which Ginny liked), and little bits of gossip. She didn't tell them about Harry. Not one word.

She also neglected to mention Pollux Sennet.

Three years, four months, and seventeen days after Malfoy Manor, everything changed.

Ginny was late for Defense -- again -- and was hurrying through the corridors. She wasn't exactly running -- she had no desire to be given detention by Mr. Filch -- when Mrs. Norris (the demon cat who eyed Arnold with longing) streaked in front of her, sending Ginny spinning into a wall.

"Stupid cat," she said. "What were you thinking?"

Mrs. Norris gave her a disdainful look, and then turned her attention to Arnold, whose head poked out of Ginny's robes. He was obviously wondering what the excitement was.

"She wants your pygmy puff," said Pollux Sennet. He leaned insolently up against the wall.

Ginny turned to him, feeling her stomach plummet. He'd been cropping up everywhere lately, enough so that she knew he was doing it on purpose. "She can't have him," she said, and made to move around him. He pushed himself off the wall and into her path.

"I need to get to class," she said. Leave me alone.

"Would Potter even notice if you were late?" he asked, stepping closer to her.

"Yes," she said fiercely, though she didn't know if this was true or not.

He shrugged, but his smirk told her that he didn't believe her. The look on his face reminded her of the way Mrs. Norris looked at Arnold. Ice flooded her belly.

Then -- quick as a flash -- he reached out and snatched Arnold. Ginny's eyes widened with horror as he let out a shrill cry. She reached into her robes and drew her wand. Sennet didn't notice.

"Don't you want a real man? I heard you--"

And then he was the one yelping in pain, and Arnold flew through the air, as the Slytherin boy bent over, clenching his rapidly swelling hand. Ginny caught the pygmy puff inches away from the wall. Her hands trembled.

"Bitch," Sennet said viciously. Ginny ignored him.

She was literally shaking with a strange, perfect mixture of fear and fury when she reached the door that led to Defense Against the Dark Arts. It carried her across the threshold, and she found herself praying that Harry had decided (randomly, it always seemed) to have them go at each other in a mock duel. She wouldn't mind pretending that either Demelza or Emma was Pollux Sennet...

_How dare that asshole try to hurt Arnold!_

As though he had read her mind, he said, "All right, we're going to review. On your feet, wands out."

Ginny knocked her chair over. Her book bag tumbled over along with it. All of her things tumbled out and in the space of what seemed like half a second, she'd made a huge mess. And it just had to happen in front of Harry. _Of course_. And she couldn't even immediately tidy the area with her wand; that had been lost in the clutter.

Dennis Creevey reached toward her. "Let me hold Arnold for you, Ginny," he said.

Ginny scrambled back. After Pollux Sennet, she didn't want anyone even going near Arnold. He didn't like it when anyone besides her held him or touched him. It wasn't good for him. "No!" she said more sharply than she intended. Creevey looked offended. "No," she said in a quieter voice, though it was his own fault that he'd tried to take Arnold from her. "He doesn't like strangers."

The faintly pitying look on his face was enough to make her cheeks flame, and she bent over and was quite vicious to her things in search of her wand. "Fucking bag," she said under her breath. "Fucking chair."

"Has Ron finally rubbed off on you, Gin? I don't remember you having such a foul mouth."

Harry.

For the most fleeting of moments, she was hurtled once more to the past. And not to Malfoy Manor, but to a time when she'd just been young and in love with her big brother's best mate. And he'd teased her, but in a kind way, and she'd loved the attention. Something bloomed inside of her--

But then reality came crashing back, and she saw the same knowledge in Harry's green eyes. Malfoy Manor cast a long shadow.

_I'm tired of that_, said a very small voice inside her head. Another thought followed swiftly on the heels of that one: _I'm going to give the cloak back_. Ginny didn't know when or how she'd finally come to that decision, but she knew that no matter how it made her insides quiver to think of not having the added protection of the Hallow, but she would be required to seek him out.

By the time class ended, she felt stupid and jittery. Arnold was likewise irritable, and kept digging into her skin with his little claws. I should just do it now, she told herself while she loitered outside the classroom. Harry had his free period now, but he always left. He never lingered in the class, though he was always the last to leave.

Just when she was about to give up and leave, the door opened. She took a second to marvel at the fact that even if she hadn't known it was him, she would've known his footsteps. Even after all these years. He didn't shuffle or practically sprint; he didn't amble like Ron, and his strides were shorter than Bill's. He walked lightly.

She slowed down a bit. He hesitated for a brief moment, and then sped up just a tiny bit and matched his steps to hers.

And then she began a conversation with him inside her head. _I have your father's cloak. I've been borrowing it since you left. Hermione said it was all right; I hope you don't mind. I don't need it anymore, and I know you don't have very many things of your dad's, and you left most of them behind when--_

But even in her head, she shied away from going there with him. If she mentioned it, she'd be absolutely certain he was thinking about it, and she didn't know if she could really bear it.

To her surprise, the longer he was silent, the more comfortable she became until gradually the knot in her belly dissipated. Even Arnold stopped his restless chuntering and curled up near her ear (after using her arm and shoulder as a tree), humming slightly. Then--

"Thank you," said Ginny, once they had reached the doors to the Great Hall. She didn't even know precisely what she was thanking him for, though she told herself it was because he'd walked beside her for ten minutes without once asking her how she was doing.

"Anytime," he said.

There was an awkward moment when they both stood there without knowing quite what to do, but they moved away (Harry to the staff table, and Ginny to her house table) at almost the same moment. She felt a little guilty for not telling him about the cloak, but she'd tell him tomorrow.

Less than twenty four hours later, Ginny paced outside of his office door. She knew he was in there; she'd seen him enter. She suddenly wished that she'd managed to have her morning fly, though she didn't need it. Not really. Quidditch had started up again, and the captain of the team was zealous in his pursuit of the cup. Her bum still ached from the grueling practice the night before--

_Stop stalling_, she told herself firmly. Arnold squeaked as though he agreed with her. Her slightly damp hands clutched the cloak, and before she could stop herself, she adjusted the fabric over her arm and rapped sharply on the door.

"Come in."

She pushed open the door. Harry sat behind his desk; his feet were up on it. He did not appear to be doing anything with the various stacks of Defense Against the Dark Arts books that cluttered the surface. Ginny spied a folded bit of parchment under his elbow, and suspected he had been making paper airplanes.

His feet banged to the floor and his mouth fell open when he saw that it was her. Ginny's stomach twisted up in a knot. _Just do it, just do it, just do it_.

"I have your cloak," she said finally, breaking the silence. She hooked her hair behind her ear with one hand and held the shimmering material out with the other. He dropped his wide-eyed gaze from her face to the cloak.

"My cloak?"

"Yes, your cloak," she said, anxiety making her voice sharp. "Your dad's cloak."

He continued to stare at it as though he had never seen it before. A million different emotions flashed across his face. She shuffled her feet, unconsciously poising herself to flee if he brought up why she'd had it in the first place. Or why he'd left it behind after Malfoy Manor.

He cleared his throat and ruffled his hair. "You can -- do you want to keep borrowing it for a little while longer?"

Ginny took this to be Harry's way of asking if she still needed it, and it sent a little flash of irritation through her. He wasn't cocky like he used to be. And his mouth had hardened as though he rarely smiled. But the look on Harry's face was so familiar and it was galling to see proof that he still saw her as a little girl. She knew he didn't mean it, but the look on his face was like a challenge.

"No. I haven't used it in ages," she lied. His eyes narrowed on her. He saw her lie. "It's yours."

He took it.

Relieved that her face hadn't gone up in flames, she turned to leave. Then, because she was a bit annoyed with him, she said, "You know, you might want to work on your lessons."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

30 September 2001

Harry absently folded another paper airplane. He was supposed to be preparing for his lessons for the day, but couldn't quite manage it. Sometimes he managed to goad himself into it by imagining what Hermione would say upon learning that while he was decent at teaching them to hone their reflexes and attack each other, he was bollocks at anything that involved using words not actions. He liked to think that Ron would be procrastinating and making paper airplanes right along with him.

He massaged the back of his neck, and was just considering having another wank to deal with the unexpected tension and boredom when someone rapped on the door.

Stuffing the latest airplane under his elbow, he said, "Come in."

The door pushed open; Harry fervently hoped it wasn't Minerva. He didn't think she'd like the disarray of his office (or his classes). Or any of his first or second years (he suspected they were plotting to discover if he was a dark wizard). He was just wondering if he had enough time to tidy up before--

There was a flash of bright red out of the corner of his eye. Only one person at Hogwarts had that color of hair. He forgot that he wasn't supposed to look at her and just stared. They'd walked together the day before, but he didn't think she'd ever seek him out. Not in his office. His feet fell to the floor and his mouth hung open in what he was sure was a deeply unattractive manner.

She took a deep breath. "I have your cloak."

The familiar, shimmering fabric was held out to him, and a thousand different memories assaulted him. He'd spent a lot of time sneaking around under that thing with Ron and Hermione. And the last time he'd seen it had been when he'd been putting it away into his rucksack, and Hermione had stuffed everything into her little beaded bag. Hours before Voldemort had been defeated.

"My cloak?"

"Yes, your cloak. Your dad's cloak."

He knew instantly that she'd used it often. She had it with her; Hermione would not have given it to her unless she thought Ginny had needed it. His chest felt tight all of a sudden. And as bittersweet (mostly sweet) it was to see one of the last remaining ties to his father, he didn't want to take away the protection it offered her.

"You can... do you want to keep borrowing it for a while?" he asked nervously. He knew immediately that he'd said the wrong thing; he had forgotten that she was as stubborn and defiant as Ron, if not more so, and there was a spark in her eyes that told him she'd taken his offer as a dare.

"No, I haven't used it in ages," she lied flippantly.

Harry didn't believe her, but he took the cloak anyway. He'd make it a point to teach the seventh years the Disillusionment Charm, if they didn't already know it.

She didn't waste any time, but retreated almost immediately. Then: "You know, you might want to work on your lessons."

The door shut firmly, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

It wasn't just Ginny that made him uncomfortable. In fact, if he was perfectly honest, being near her was not as wrenching as he might have thought. She was far quieter than she had been. The brutality she'd suffered because of him had left a heavy mark on her. And yet... there were flashes of the girl he used to know, and it made him ache to see Ron and Hermione and all the other Weasleys, but the idea of showing up at the Burrow made him feel sick with dread.

He didn't think he could look her family in the eyes, not when she'd been taken because of him. She'd suffered because of him. Except for little flashes, the old Ginny was gone. Because of him.

He slid his hand against the silky fabric of the cloak.

Perhaps it was because Moony was the last Marauder, but Harry was struck with the sudden urge to talk to the old wolf. He gulped in a breath and glanced at his watch: he had ten minutes before he had to get to his class. With Ginny. And before he could stop himself, he threw some floo powder into the hearth, stuck his head in and yelled, "Lupin residence!"

Harry did not even have to yell for him. Remus Lupin sat in his dressing gown, gaping at Harry around a piece of toast. He mumbled something that sounded like "Harry?"

"Er, hi," said Harry.

Remus swallowed. "Hello, Harry," he said cautiously. "Er -- how are you?"

"I'm fine," Harry said automatically. "How are you? And Dora? And Teddy?"

"They're fine. They're getting ready for a playdate with Victoire," Remus said. "Bill Weasley's daughter," he added pointedly.

"I know who Victoire is," Harry said. He generally tried not to listen when Dora talked about them, but some things did manage to break through. "And that's great. It sounds like fun."

Remus eyed him silently, still looking slightly stunned and confused. "Not that I mind the impromptu chat, Harry, but did you need anything?" he asked when it became clear that Harry wasn't going to say anything.

"How are Ron and Hermione?" he blurted.

The old wolf's eyes widened with surprise, and he leaned back into his chair. "Ron and Hermione?" he repeated.

"Er," said Harry. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Are they doing well?"

"I expect so," said Remus. "They're living together. Molly has been pushing for them to get married, but they appear to be taking their time."

"They've got plenty of that," said Harry. "Ron's an Auror, right?" he asked, as if he didn't know.

"He is," Remus confirmed. "He's still very junior, but Macalby and Winton say that he's doing very well. Moving up through the ranks quickly. He's better than Dora at Stealth and Tracking, that's for sure."

Harry smiled. "And Hermione?"

"She's still at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," he said. "But she's starting to think she can make more of an impact in Magical Law Enforcement."

"She once told the Minister for Magic that she'd never pursue a career in Magical Law," Harry said, mostly to himself. The fact that she was now considering that very thing made him smile. _Ron must be thrilled to tease her_, he thought.

"People change," Remus shrugged. There was something unfathomable in his eyes, and it made Harry want to look away.

"I know," said Harry. "Listen, I've got to go..." Talking about Ron and Hermione—actually picturing them going on with their lives, making adult decisions, worrying about marriage and jobs…it was all just a bit too much right now. He felt a bit cowardly as Remus nodded at him, an all-too-knowing look on his face.

"Call again, Harry," Remus said softly.

Harry swallowed and nodded. "I will."

The flames went out and Harry stared at the black ash in the grate until his eyes began to hurt. The longer he sat, the more his thoughts strayed to Ginny. Her parting shot really rankled. He knew he wasn't cut out to teach; he did just fine with the practical stuff, but the theory for Defense Against the Dark Arts had come so instinctively that it was a bit like trying to dissect and explain what each jerk of a muscle or flexing of a grip while flying could do.

Hermione had always been the one to plan.

_It isn't really my fault,_ Harry thought grouchily. _It's not like I had a decent DADA professor every year._

But there had been one in particular who had taught Harry quite a lot.

An hour later, Harry stared around at his second year Gryffindor and Slytherin students. They might be only twelve, but they were a robust lot, and the sooner they learned the better off they would be. "Listen," he said. They watched him attentively; it was still sort of unnerving. "I know I haven't been the best professor. But that's going to change."

One girl raised her hand. "You're good at the spells and stuff," she said fairly.

"Er, thanks," he said. "The point is... I've forgotten to give you the very first lesson on Defense. Though you're getting it a bit soon than me. I heard it in my fourth year."

"The year you were in the Triwizard Tournament?" one of the Slytherin boys -- I really need to learn their names, Harry thought -- asked eagerly.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Now, the person who taught me was actually a Death Eater. He'd locked the real Mad-Eye Moody -- the man who was supposed to be our professor -- into a magical trunk." Some of them exchanged glances. The three Gryffindors in the back began to whisper furiously. "Don't worry!" Harry said, raising his hand. "Mad-Eye wasn't killed -- not for a few years, anyway -- he was kept alive so the Death Eater could keep using his body..."

This did not help.

"The Death Eater stole the professor's body?" The boy Gryffindor in the back said incredulously.

"He was using Polyjuice Potion," Harry said. "It's actually pretty easy to make. I helped a friend of mine make it when I was your age, when Ron W"--but it was painful to mention that name in front of a class, so he interrupted himself with a pained grimace--"another friend of mine was possessed by an evil diary. You'd think that it'd be harder to steal bodies, but there you go."

"Steal bodies?" a Slytherin asked faintly. Harry decided that this was perhaps not the best topic of conversation. He didn't want to give them any ideas.

"The point is," Harry said bracingly. "Constant vigilance is the most important concept when it comes to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Danger can come from any direction; it isn't so much about memorizing loads of spells. It's about using the ones you know fast enough." He took a deep breath, hating what he was about to do. "And now I'm going to give you homework..."

They looked pale and unhappy and, for the first time, Harry felt like a real professor.

**Author's Note:**

_Thanks to Andi, who helped the last section not be a complete disaster. _


	5. That'll Be the Day

6 October 2001

Ginny trudged up to the portrait hole, every limb in her body trembling from exhaustion, though in the best possible way. An almost dreamy haze had settled over her, and Jeremy Finch's words still echoed in her ears: _Damn, Ginny, I've never seen you fly better!_ When she hadn't been working in the storeroom at WWW or playing with Victoire, she'd spent every free moment on her broom, seeking solace in the sky. The only negative thing about flying was that Arnold was terrified of heights and had to be left on the ground. But she was happy to know that the hours of practicing had paid off.

"You look like you're about to fall over," the Fat Lady said robustly. "Rough day?"

Ginny shrugged. "Quidditch," she said.

Demelza came up behind her, laughing with Finch. "Great flying, Ginny," she said warmly. "Dirigible plums," she said firmly to the Fat Lady, who looked disgruntled.

"Fine," she said sourly. "Treat me like I'm a slave and not someone with _feelings_."

Ginny ignored the Fat Lady's theatrics and groaned when her muscles protested the contortions required to enter the Gryffindor common room. Demelza appeared to have the same dilemma. "Damn it, Finch, if you don't start giving us a break, we're all going to die before November."

"No dying until after we win the Cup," Finch said cheerfully. "You'll be good to go in April."

It was moments like these that Ginny was fervently grateful she was not Quidditch Captain. Finch had been a decent bloke and Beater before he got the badge; he'd been reasonably well liked by the rest of the team. But it was as though the silver badge had a curse that changed personalities and forced them to become slave-drivers who vacillated from obsessive and scary to determined and scary. Not that she was complaining, but Ginny thought she might've actually been pushed to the limits of flying for the day. She hadn't thought it would be possible, but her bum _hurt_.

"My bum hurts," Demelza moaned, echoing Ginny's own thoughts.

"It looks pretty good to me," Finch chuckled. It was husky, and Demelza answered it with a delighted, though embarrassed, giggle.

Ginny tumbled out the other side, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the mating dance of the teenage witch and wizard. _I didn't even know they fancied each other_, she thought, stunned. She scuttled over to the large armchair by the fire and dropped her book bag on top of it. Then she raced up the stairs to her dorm and retrieved Arnold. She probably had about three hours of homework. Not for the first time, she wished she hadn't opened her mouth and told Harry to work on his lessons; he'd begun giving them homework with frightening regularity.

She wasn't the only one who missed the days he'd just make them duel each other or give them a rambling lecture about whatever came into his head. The fifth years were ready to revolt.

Pulling out the thick book they'd never opened the first month (and which she vaguely remembered Harry receiving for Christmas at Grimmauld Place during her second year), she grimaced and began to write her essay. He'd assigned ten inches. And it was due tomorrow.

An hour later, a slight diversion arrived in the form of a large paper crane pecking at the window. Ginny heaved a sigh, glancing over at the other Gryffindors. Some grinned, others pointed and laughed. But everyone knew that it was there for her, and let her unlatch the window and let in. "Let me in!" it squawked. "I'm here for Ginny Weasley -- Chaser extraordinaire!"

"Yes, yes, I know," Ginny mumbled, face turning bright red. Sometimes the twins were a bit too much.

"Say the words!" the bird said in a sing-song voice.

"I know you're from my favorite brothers, the genius Fred and brilliant George," Ginny said sourly. They liked to have their little jokes. If she didn't say the exact words, the bird would start flapping around the room, molting confetti, and singing 'God Save the Queen' off key. She didn't understand how their minds worked sometimes. They seemed to think that any letter delivered without fanfare deserved to be binned. Owls just weren't flashy enough.

"You flatter us!" it trilled in an extremely annoying manner, and ripped itself apart, revealing a simple bit of parchment.

_Dear Ginny,_

Guess what? The stars have aligned in just the right manner, the heavens have shown down on us from above, and we are finally, finally opening another joke shop in Hogsmeade. Now Scotland can enjoy pranking and fireworks without having to Apparate all the way to London -- we hope they view this as something fun, and not as an invasion.

We've got two options for premises, and we haven't made the final decision. The first building is really wide open and has a decent floor space. The only problem is that we'd have to build a storeroom on the back. The other option is two stories, and has a veritable warren of little rooms. We can already see ourselves filling each room with different things. Unfortunately, we'd have to liquify a few of our assets in order to purchase it fully, and we were trying to save money so that when Ron finally permanently disables himself doing Dangerous Auror Things (as he says), we'd be able to support him.

Alas, Hermione might have to take up that burden, the poor witch.

(And now Fred says that I just need to get to the point, but I'm the one writing) If he wants to do it, he can just shove the quill--

We're coming to Hogsmeade! And we've scheduled it so we can visit you on your day out on the town. You can help us with the decision! We'll meet you at the Three Broomsticks at noon. Or if you want us to walk with you, we'd be happy to terrorize Hogwarts. Minerva McGonagall would be especially happy to see us, I think.

Love from,

Gred and Forge

Ginny couldn't help but smile wryly, stroking a sleeping Arnold with one finger. If she had to have family come and be with her in Hogsmeade, she'd rather it be the twins than anyone else. They were the best at pretending everything was completely normal. And they'd gotten out of the habit of asking if she was all right. Not to mention they'd given her the option of actually meeting her in Hogsmeade instead of insisting on escorting her down the road.

She took a deep breath. Last year she would have had them meet her here at Hogwarts. The idea of walking there with so many variables hanging loose (would she walk with someone else or by herself? How many people would be on the road? Would they talk to her?) would have forced her to accept protection from her family.

But -- despite a lingering unease due to Pollux Sennet and the way he eyed her, even after the Arnold incident -- she decided that she could walk with Emma or Demelza (or Demelza and Finch) and she'd be perfectly fine. And even if she wasn't, she'd do it anyway.

She'd have to warn Harry, though. He'd exerted so much effort to keep his presence at Hogwarts a secret. It would be completely unfair of her to let him go to Hogsmeade (if he intended to go) without warning him that her brothers would be there. But the idea of seeking him out and talking to him again made a little coil of dread grow in her belly. She hadn't spoken to him since she'd returned his cloak, and he hadn't acknowledged her since then, other than to correct her stance once.

_I could write him a note on the homework_, she thought, staring down at her parchment. But was that too cowardly? She could go to his office again -- if she'd done it once, she could do it again. She didn't want to corner him by mentioning her family, though, and what if he just didn't care? _I'll leave him the note_, she decided finally.

As though her thoughts had traveled to the others, she heard a particularly loud voice say "Professor Potter!"

Ginny stiffened and looked over into the corner. Three young Gryffindors (second years she thought were called Stuart Method, Aisling Powell, and Elizabeth Barnett) were whispering furiously together, determination lighting their faces. Stuart, obviously the leader, made lots of hand gestures; Ginny wondered what on earth they could be talking about. They seemed a bit too enthusiastic to be talking about homework.

They stopped talking immediately when they noticed her staring, and eyed her with suspicion.

Ginny refused to flush -- she wouldn't let a group of twelve year olds embarrass her -- and turned back to her homework. She gripped her quill with slightly damp palms and swiftly wrote: _Fred and George will be in Hogsmeade on the 24th_.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

11 October 2001 - 14 October 2001

Harry had discovered that if there was anything he hated more (about school, at least) than History of Magic, it was marking essays and homework. He felt a little wave of resentment at the fact that he'd been forced to assign it in the first place. He'd done his best to at least make it interesting for himself (he'd forced the third years -- despite protests -- to write an essay on the new legislation being put before the Wizengamot giving more legal rights to werewolves and vampires) but it was still just reading the same thing over and over again.

_Just assign random grades_, said a voice inside his head that sounded like Ron. _They'll never know the difference_. For a long moment, Harry was tempted. They probably wouldn't know the difference. Harry could write an 'A' here, an 'E' there, and maybe toss in a few 'O's and a 'T' for good measure. _It's the best of both worlds. You could get them studying and not have to work at it..._

Harry looked around, half-expecting to see Ron standing behind him. But he was alone; his laziness was all his own.

The stack of seventh year essays mocked him. _I'm going to have to do it right_, he told himself glumly. He was just about to reach for it when there was a rap at the door and he nearly fell off his chair. It pushed open without his permission and Stuart Method, a second year, sidled in. Harry felt a wave of relief; every time he heard a knock, he thought it would be Ron or Hermione or any of the other Weasleys, coming to... well, he didn't know what they would do, but he dreaded it nevertheless.

"Hi, Mr. Method," Harry grinned widely at him, his relief perhaps making him overly cheerful. The sandy-haired boy was taken aback for a moment.

"Hi, Professor Potter," he said. He looked around the office. Harry followed his glance, as though seeing his office for the first time. The walls were bare and blank. The desk was cluttered with essays and parchment and a few bottles of ink and quills. There were no personal effects, nor was there anything that said that the office was used day in and day out. It looked like the temporary retreat of an anonymous professor. Harry grimaced. "Nice office," the second year said, obviously lying.

"Er, thanks," Harry said awkwardly.

"How come you've suddenly started giving us homework?" the boy asked suddenly, flipping his hair out of his eyes.

_Because Ginny Weasley told me to work harder at my lessons_.

"I -- er -- thought it was time," Harry said. He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know... I gave you a break for the first month," he said, when Method's eyes narrowed. Harry began to suspect that the second years might mutiny like the fourth years had last week when he'd assigned one too many essays. He wracked his brain._Have I been too hard on the second years?_ To be honest, he felt like he was doing a better job than Lockhart. At least he wasn't having them act out plays. _What would Hermione say?_ "Working hard is not a bad thing," he said firmly.

"No, no," Method said. "It isn't. Thanks for the explanation. I'll be going now."

And Harry watched him, feeling slightly bemused, as he left, shutting the door quietly behind him. _Kids get odder and odder every year_.

By pure coincidence, Ginny's essay was at the top of the stack.

In his hurry to get through it, he almost missed the little note at the bottom. _Fred and George will be at Hogsmeade on the 24th_. He stared at it for a few moments, uncomprehending. She was warning him? He didn't understand why she hadn't told them, actually, and this just sealed his confusion. What was stopping her? He knew that she was the only person in the castle besides him who could tell the people he most didn't want to know his whereabouts his exact location. _Why hadn't she?_

It was killing him. He had descended so far into paranoia that every time he walked around the corner he expected to see a horde of red-heads milling about just waiting for him. He'd been so dead certain that she'd tell that he never considered that she might not. And now she was warning him. Granted, he'd rather wank in front of the entire student body than go to Hogsmeade where he'd be surrounded by people wanting to see the reclusive "savior" of the wizarding world, but still.

It was driving him mental.

He obsessed over it the next few days, and he took to staring at Ginny more often than he should, wondering what the hell she was thinking. He even almost got cornered by Hagrid a few times. His giant friend had taken to giving him sad looks, but the thought of talking to him made his stomach curdle; Hagrid had ushered Harry into the wizarding world. Harry owed him an explanation, but he just couldn't give it.

Finally, after class one day, he seized his chance. Just as Ginny was about to leave, he whispered, "Diffindo!" and her book bag split open. The stricken, embarrassed look on her face made him feel awful, though, and he kicked himself for not thinking of a better way to do it. The rest of the students filed out. Harry stared blankly at her while she gathered her things.

"Ginny," he said before he could stop himself. His voice cracked.

Her head swiveled around and their eyes met. For a moment his throat was dry and he couldn't speak.

"Why haven't you told them?" he asked. He expected her to look away, but she kept up the eye contact. Her expression was unreadable, though he knew that she knew exactly what he was asking. Ruffling his hair, he looked away. They were skirting dangerously close to a topic Harry had no intention of going anywhere near with her: the reason for why he'd pulled back, and why he hadn't ever returned to the Burrow.

She didn't say anything for such a long time that Harry thought she'd left. Then--

"I heard that you made it so no one could tell that you were here," she said.

"I would've noticed if you were at the feast," Harry told her. Did she think she was under the compulsion not to say a word? "That's when it was done. You wouldn't have any problem telling."

She blinked. "I thought it was pretty obvious you didn't want me to tell them," she pointed out. She didn't need to add that she knew that Harry hadn't done it to hide from the press or from fans (though it was a bonus), but to ensure that those he loved most would have no idea he was so accessible. He turned away from her again; he couldn't look at her with the reason for why he'd stepped away from them thrumming through his veins.

"Thanks," he said.

"Anytime," she said quietly. "I won't tell them. But--"

"Please don't," he said, shaking his head.

The bag rustled as she finished putting away her things. Harry walked over to a random display table and fiddled aimlessly with the jar of pixie eggs brought in by an enterprising first year. "You don't have to split my bag open," she said softly, and walked out the door. Harry kept his back turned.

He could acknowledge that it was difficult to look her in the eyes. Harry was just never sure what he might see; all of it was painful and piercing in its own way. Sometimes he saw her against the backdrop of the kitchen in Malfoy Manor, huddled against the leg of the table to which she'd been chained. She'd been hugging her knees and trembling and she hadn't recognized him for long moments. Other times, he saw the Ginny she'd been. The Ginny who had, in her first year, written a blistering letter to Rita Skeeter after her rude columns; or the Ginny who had blushed whenever she'd seen him and treated him with an honest, innocent love that Harry had never before experienced.

The two images would inevitably change to what she was now: altered and hurt because she'd had a crush on the wrong boy.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"Remember the last time we were at Hogsmeade?" Fred grinned wickedly, nudging George in the ribs.

George rolled his eyes, wondering why Fred even bothered to ask. "I'm surprised _you_remember," he said, grinning. "You're the one who was so pissed that you ran around--"

"--in my pants," Fred finished cheerfully. He turned his head, taking another peek at the door. George was luckier; he was facing the right direction and didn't have to keep turning his entire body to see if Ginny had arrived yet. Their mum had been annoyed when she'd found out that Ginny had wanted to meet them at the Three Broomsticks, rather than having them escort her. _"Now she probably won't even go and enjoy her day in Hogsmeade," she'd said. "If she's more than half an hour late, I want you to go up and get her."_ It was fifteen minutes past their meeting time, and Ginny had still not made an appearance.

"You were quite popular with the ladies that night," George said dryly.

Fred ignored him and winked at Madam Rosmerta, who caught his look and grinned back. "Hey there, Rosie, remember me?" he said.

"No flirting with me, Fred Weasley," she teased, one hand on her hip. "I'm old enough to be your mother."

"Surely not!" Fred said, opening his eyes wide with pretend shock. "Maybe my mother's very young sister... a late in life baby, perhaps."

George just shook his head while the pretty (though older) barmaid laughed. "You need to find a nice girl of your own," he said, attempting to imitate their pompous older brother. "Settle down. Have a few children. Make Mum happy. It would have the added bonus of putting Charlie under even more pressure--"

"--much as I would like to put Charlie in a hot cauldron with Mum's desire for more grandchildren," Fred interrupted, rolling his eyes, though he kept one of them on the door, "I don't think I'll shackle myself to a witch just for a prank."

"You've made bigger decisions before just for a prank," George pointed out distractedly, glancing at his watch. Where was she? Had they misjudged and the idea of walking from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade had forced Ginny to stay in her dorm? "Why not this one?"

His twin snorted, draining the rest of his butterbeer. "You've been with Angelina for about two minutes, Gred, and now you're suddenly acting like Mum?" He waved at Rosmerta, signaling he wanted another. George sipped his own, realizing that it had warmed in his hand and was mostly full. "If she isn't here in five minutes, I'm having a firewhiskey," he muttered under his breath.

But Fred's resolution was not to be tested; the door opened with a jangling of bells and loud welcomes from the shrunken heads behind the bar, and Ginny's bright red hair was clearly visible. Another smaller and darker girl was at her side, along with Finch, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. His little sister bent her head, saying something in a low murmur, and then left their side, her feet carrying her to Fred and George. He felt a relief that was more intense than the situation warranted.

A fleeting glance between him and his twin was exchanged, and they communicated silently as they sometimes did. Neither one of them knew if they'd ever be able to stop fretting over her the way they did now. George saw Fred make a quick, aborted motion that their sister thankfully didn't notice. It was better not to even try to touch her. Which was fair. Her body had been so battered when the Healer had brought her to the door that George didn't blame her for shying away.

"Hey there, Gin," George said cheerfully. She had her hair pulled back; Arnold was firmly attached to her collar, and he peered around at the bar with wide, astonished eyes. George hid a grin. "Hi, Arnold."

"Hi, boys," she said, and slid into the booth.

Fred's eyes darted around the room and he leaned forward. "It's begun," he said in a conspiratorial whisper.

"What has?" she said, brow furrowed.

George decided to play along. He dabbed his lips with a napkin. "Our invasion of Scotland, of course--"

"--we could only hint at it in our letter," Fred continued. He sounded quite serious, but his eyes were twinkling madly. "But all the plans are in place. All we need--"

"--is one red-headed witch to help us figure out which store to conquer," George added.

Her eyes crinkled at the edges and her lips twisted in the semblance of a smile. George felt something inside him deflate. He and Fred quite outdid themselves sometimes trying to hear a laugh come from her lips. He'd never fully appreciated how wonderful her laugh had been. Even when she was a tiny girl, she'd had a deep, throaty laugh that came from her belly. But he didn't even need that same laugh. He'd settle for a giggle or a chuckle or even a snort. But the most she could give was a smile, and even those never reached her eyes.

"By 'conquer', you do mean 'buy', right?"

Fred shrugged blithely. "If that makes you more comfortable, then by all means believe that we intend to buy it and not take it with brute force," he said, sounding for all the world like he was about to march right out and lay siege to one of the two locations they'd picked out. He caught Fred's eye and shook his head imperceptibly. They might as well abandon this line of joking; obviously, Ginny did not find invading Scotland funny.

He fervently hoped that Ginny could find her way back to normal.

Rosmerta placed a butterbeer in front of Ginny; George pulled out a few knuts and a silver sickle to pay for it.

"How is everyone?" she asked, after taking a long pull from the bottle.

"That can wait," Fred said, waving a hand. "How are you? Are you still kicking arse at Quidditch?"

"I still think that it's distinctly unfair that the only girl in a family with seven children is better than all her brothers combined," George rolled his eyes. "Though Charlie comes close."

"It's going well," she said. "Finch has really gone mental; I'm surprised he managed to drag himself off the pitch to come here today."

George didn't really listen to her as she continued to prattle on about wind conditions, the chances for the Cup, and how she'd begun to wish that she hadn't screamed at Slughorn once to leave her alone, because she heard that Gwenog Jones, the former captain and now coach of the Holyhead Harpies, had begun attending. That first year had been terrible; Ginny had been either silent or raging, and she'd spent pretty much every day and most of the night flying on her broom. Her adamance at going back to Hogwarts had been a major shock; George and everyone else had had misgivings. She didn't do well with all of them around her, how could she have gone to Hogwarts with so many people there?

But things had gradually eased, and Ginny wasn't quite so fragile as she had been. But George missed the Ginny who laughed, and he didn't think she'd ever really come back. It seemed like if Ginny was going to get better, she would've done so already.

"How are classes?" George asked.

"Need any Skiving Snackboxes?" Fred added. "We brought some just in case."

For a moment, she looked torn, as though she wouldn't have minded having a way to earn more free hours. "No," she said. "No, I don't think I need them.

"How's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" George asked. A strange expression, one he couldn't quite place, flickered across her face. He clucked sympathetically. "That bad, eh?"

"Dad says that Flitwick must've had to really scrape the bottom of the barrel," said Fred. "Doesn't even know the bloke's name; must be a real nobody."

"Er, yeah," said Ginny. "Listen, I don't really want to talk about school. How is Mum? How are the others?"

George grimaced inwardly. He couldn't really imagine the pain that his dad was going through. Ginny seemed to have focused some of her negative feelings on him -- whether it was rational or not, Ginny couldn't seem to help it. Sometimes he couldn't even be mentioned without her withdrawing into herself to a place none of them but Arnold could reach. And the closed expression on her face told him that the discussion was closed because Fred had misjudged her and mentioned their father.

"Everyone is doing fine," Fred said. There was something in his voice that George didn't like. Of all of them, Fred and Charlie had the most difficulty with accepting the changes that had been wrought in the sister. And sometimes they couldn't help but push, because sometimes when they pushed her farther than they ought to, there was a flash of the old Ginny in the temper she displayed. "Mum just about had kittens last week--"

"Fred, don't," George said warningly.

But Fred ignored him. "Remus Lupin had a call from Harry," he said. "Said that Harry asked about Ron and Hermione. Harry Potter, finally asking about his friends. She thinks it's big news."

George blew out a breath, watching Ginny closely. She did not react precisely as he expected; she generally turned bright red whenever Harry's name was mentioned, but this time her mouth opened and her eyes widened in shock.

"He did?" she said, surprised. "When?"

"A week ago, I think," Fred said. "Remus said it was right out of the blue. In the morning. He was sitting there in his dressing gown and eating a piece of toast and Harry's head appeared in the flames. Mum is beside herself. She's prepared for him to come visit pretty much every hour of the day."

George had no such delusions. Harry had been gone for a long time; he couldn't imagine what would make him come home when he'd avoided it for years. He understood. Sort of. More than Fred did, anyway. His twin didn't blame Harry for anything, but it rankled Fred that Harry had dropped so completely out of their lives. George sometimes thought that he shared his dad's horrible relief that he hadn't returned. There were too many questions as to how Ginny would react. But sometimes he thought that Ginny didn't need to be coddled quite so much; Fred was of the opinion that Ginny would return to herself if she was treated as she had been. Before.

He just didn't know.

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24 October 2001

By the time the day was done and the sun set, Harry thought that he just might have to brave going to Hogsmeade. In disguise of course, and it was not something he would normally do, but a nearly empty castle was not conducive to avoiding people and uncomfortable conversations, and he thought that next time he might actually prefer Hogsmeade.

The pain had begun with McGonagall.

"Good morning, Harry," she said, pouring herself a cup of tea and helping herself to a fair amount of breakfast. The students had already escaped, and the professors were enjoying an empty, echoing Great Hall. She wasn't looking at him, but her lips were pressed firmly together. She was annoyed about something (or with someone) and Harry hoped he had nothing to do with it.

"Good morning," said Harry.

She glanced around exaggeratedly. Harry winced. "I haven't seen Hagrid recently," she announced. "Not this morning. Or last night. Or for the last week."

Harry groaned inwardly. _Damn it_. He'd hoped that she hadn't noticed. Hagrid had stopped trying to corner Harry and had begun skipping meals. This had never been a good sign; things with the half giant were going to come to a head, and Harry had a feeling that he'd end up feeling extremely guilty and chastened. He owed Hagrid better than what he was giving him, but he just couldn't seem to force himself to do anything about it. "I -- er --"

McGonagall held up her hand. "I don't need to hear it," she said firmly. She finally turned to look him full in the face and Harry found that he could not keep eye contact with her. He looked away and stared down at his food. It was obvious that everyone was disappointed in him in some way. But what exactly did they expect from him? He wondered what they would say if he told them the truth of what had happened and why. "Potter, there comes a time when you need to stick your chin up. You've been a recluse for three _years_. You've pushed away everyone. I think you'll find that not everyone will push you for answers about what happened; and if they do, it's only out of concern for you. Do you really want to live like this for the rest of your life?"

A part of Harry sat up and cheered. But the sullen, angry part of him held him back. He'd gotten too used to being alone, to not having to answer to anyone or live up to their expectations. Completely frozen, he kept his eyes on his eggs.

She sighed. "Think about it, at least. Hagrid misses you."

Harry left as soon as he could without it making it look like he was running away. He rounded the corner, intending to head back to his quarters when he nearly walked into batty Sybill Trelawney.

Hot blood immediately pounded through his veins, and he felt an irrational desire to grab her and place a permanent Silencing Charm on her so that she could never again utter a prophecy. She greeted him, but Harry heard it through a fog of anger and rage so intense it frightened him a little.

He walked away and briefly stopped in his room for his Firebolt. His hands still shook. It seemed that a day of flying was in order.

The sky and his thoughts held him captive for hours; he was vaguely aware that his bum had begun to hurt, but dusk took him quite by surprise. He looked down at the ground and watched the crowd of students snake their way up the drive. The Firebolt did a few loops, though Harry kept his eyes searching for a bright red head in a sea of black robes.

He flew above her until she was safe inside Hogwarts.


	6. Doctor Rubeus

30 October 2001

When Harry noticed that Hagrid had not come to breakfast for the ninth day straight, he knew that he had to do something, even though the idea of it made a knot of anxiety grow in his belly. He didn't want to see the disappointment on Hagrid's face, nor the accusation. Part of it was the fact that he knew that so many people must be confused and angry (although those feelings might have faded with time) because he had dropped out of their lives so completely. In order for them to fully understand his reasons he would have to tell them, and that defied the purpose of avoiding them.

_Why did I come to teach here again?_ he asked himself, right as Ginny walked into the door of his classroom. She had circles under her eyes as though she hadn't slept well. Harry wondered if she had nightmares about Malfoy Manor the way he did. Even Arnold, who was usually bright-eyed and cheerful even at this hour of the morning, seemed droopy and lethargic. He was draped over her shoulder and barely even lifted his head.

He stared at them for several moments, distracted, while the rest of the students filed in. There was an air of suppressed excitement; Halloween was tomorrow. Harry was certain that even now -- despite Hermione's best efforts -- the house elves were preparing a marvelous feast. Remembering his own school days, and the classes leading up to holidays great and small, and made a split-second decision. "We're going to do something a little different today," he announced, thinking quickly.

The students eyed each other apprehensively. Ginny ignored him in favor of paying attention to Arnold.

"Don't worry," he said. "It won't be too bad. But I've decided to build an obstacle course for the second years to maneuver today... sort of as a fun way to celebrate Halloween--"

"--by scaring the pants off of them?" Dennis Creevey grinned. "Sounds good to me."

Harry chuckled a little. His second years -- even the Gryffindors -- seemed especially twitchy. "That's exactly it," he admitted. "We're going to enchant a bunch of objects -- they've been learning how to neutralize things... we'll see how they actually do." The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. It would be a fun way of testing their abilities to freeze things in their tracks, turn potentially harmful objects into stone... _I may even have to expand this to include some of my other years,_ he thought.

"What sort of stuff, though, Professor Potter?" asked a Hufflepuff girl named Mallory Abbott.

He shrugged. "Anything," he said. And then he remembered some of the creepy things in Grimmauld Place and was struck with an idea. He whispered a spell and her chair suddenly animated and began to gallop across the room. For several moments, she was too stunned to do anything but hold on for dear life. Her enchanted chair had made its way through the warren of chairs and almost all the way across the room before she stopped it.

Silence. And then--

"This is going to be fun," Creevey said gleefully, jabbing his elbow into his neighbor's ribs.

Later, Harry was surprised at how well the impromptu lesson had gone. It had been a real stretch for all of them to think of what was or wasn't appropriate for second years. The students had been learning and having fun. Even Ginny had come out with a truly elegant bit of magic: she'd spent the entire lesson transfiguring objects into little glass balls, and he'd had no idea what she was doing, but hadn't wanted to ask. He examined it carefully; the little balls looked like eyes. His own eyes were getting heavy--

Once he realized that she had placed a Compulsion Charm and a Sleeping Charm on them, he thrust the bowl away, quite impressed. It wasn't so much that it had to be countered with magic, but the second years would have to figure out what was happening. The eyes were even different colors: emerald green, dark brown, and even a pale blue that reminded him of Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye that saw everything.

He gave her an 'O' for the lesson.

An hour later, Harry stared around at his second years. Stuart Method, Elizabeth Barnett, and Aisling Powell whispered together in the back of the room. Every once in a while they would look up at him, as though checking to make sure he couldn't hear them. They were another trio of Gryffindors who were obviously close friends; sometimes he watched them and missed Ron and Hermione so much that it was a constant stomach ache. A part of him wanted to contact Remus again, and get another update -- this time a more complete one -- but he dreaded it at the same time.

"Professor?" Madison McCarin said uncertainly.

"Er -- sorry," he said sheepishly. "We're doing something different today... in honor of Halloween, the seventh year students have created a sort of obstacle course for you."

"What kind of obstacle course?" Aisling Powell asked suspiciously.

"Nothing too difficult," he promised. He remembered the third year test that Remus had set for them; it was far easier than that. There was renewed whispering among the three Gryffindors, and he briefly considered teaching them _Muffliato_, though that might get him in trouble with McGonagall. He supposed he ought to set an example, and not teach the students subversive spells. He was a professor, and not the leader of the Defense Association.

At the end of the lesson, he patted himself on the back for a good idea. Ginny's enchanted eyeballs had been the most difficult thing that they'd come up against. Nearly all of them had fallen completely asleep and had to be jolted awake by another one of the students (Harry decided to let them work it out for themselves). And he was already planning on a better version, one that could be integrated into all of his classes. _You'll start turning into Hermione if you're not careful,_ he told himself. _It's a sure sign of worry when you're using phrases like 'integrated into all classes'._

The success of the classes bolstered him through the rest of the day, but by the time the setting sun filtered through the windows in Harry's quarters, he was feeling nervous again. _It's just Hagrid,_ he told himself. He had thrown himself across his bed, and he still wore his teaching robes and shoes. But this did not help; if anything it made it worse. But before he could change his mind and decide to wait another day (or three, or possibly even several months), he swung his legs off the bed and propelled himself out of his bedroom. He did not even pause in his sitting room, but opened the door that led to his office.

As he headed out into the main corridor, he was struck with an idea borne of both hunger and self-preservation. "Kreacher!" he called, and it seemed as though the words were barely out of his mouth before Kreacher appeared with a loud popping noise. He was still quite ugly, but he was very clean, and he eyed Harry with a strange mixture of concern, exasperation, and pity. Sometimes, being Kreacher's master was like being the nephew of a crotchety old busybody.

"I need some food, Kreacher, if you don't mind," Harry said quickly, before the elf could begin to lecture him. He hadn't actually seen Kreacher for several weeks, though the elf cleaned his quarters.

"Why isn't Master dining with the rest of the professors?" Kreacher asked suspiciously. Remus' little talk hadn't been the only thing that motivated Harry to take the post at Hogwarts. The elf had taken to making large dinners in the hopes that Harry would not want to waste all that food, and would invite people over to share it with him.

"I need food for two," Harry said. "Actually"--he thought of Hagrid's large size--"make that four."

The elf's already over-sized eyes widened until it looked like his entire face was taken over. "Master is having a little joke?"

"No joke," Harry replied firmly. "Don't go all out. Just sandwiches."

Kreacher deflated. "Kreacher lives to serve Master," he said balefully. "Though Kreacher would like to use his skills, yes he would," the elf added under his breath, though Harry was close enough to hear him perfectly.

"I'll be down at Hagrid's," said Harry. "You remember where that is?"

"Master acts as though Kreacher is a stupid elf," he muttered.

"Sorry," said Harry, already walking away. A part of him hoped that Hagrid would be too angry to see him, though he knew that wouldn't be the case. Well, he was fairly certain Hagrid wouldn't throw him out. His feelings would be injured, though, which was worse than anger. The coil of anxiety tightened even further as he exited the doors and made his way down the sloping path toward Hagrid's hut. A curl of smoke issued from the chimney. Harry knew it would be warm and homey inside; it would drive away the chill.

All too soon, he stood in front of the door, a brisk wind making it difficult to procrastinate too much. The cold had him rapping on the wood sooner than he might've had it been warm. There was a murmur of voices and Harry felt a swooping dread that was immediately replaced by relief. Hagrid had a visitor; Harry might be able to put off this meeting for another few days without feeling like he'd been a coward. _This really is--_

The door opened, and Ginny's bright red head poked out. Her face was pale and grew even paler upon sight of him. She took a deep breath and turned to look over her shoulder. "Hagrid, it's Professor Potter."

There was a long pause. "Well, don' leave 'im out in the cold, then," Hagrid said gruffly.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

30 October 2001

_It was the day they'd gone to Hogsmeade, and Ginny made her excuses and left Demelza and Finch to their own devices -- the pair were holding hands and it made her feel very lonely all of a sudden_. I didn't even have to walk back with them, _Ginny thought. She'd seen a figure on a broomstick and had known it was Harry. He'd flown in circles high above them all the way from Hogsmeade to the castle; Finch had commented on it._

_And despite that and the fact that the day had gone relatively well, Ginny found herself longing for the quiet of her little partitioned off room in the dorm. Even Arnold seemed tired and morose, and her sense of relief heightened with every flight of stairs and corridor that drew her closer to Gryffindor Tower._ I'm going to--

_"Ginny."_

__

She stiffened and turned. It was Harry; he must have taken one of the shortcuts for which he was famous because he leaned up against the wall next to his Firebolt, and it was obvious that he'd been waiting for a little while. For her. Her heart thumped in her chest and all she could do was stare.

He gestured helplessly with one hand. "This is stupid," he said. "We're being stupid."

Ginny found that she agreed, and had for quite some time. "Yes," she nodded. "We're in Gryffindor. We're supposed to be brave." And then, because it seemed like she couldn't stop herself, "I want to be brave again."

"Me too," he said. His voice was wry. "How d'you think it feels to be saviour of the wizarding world, and yet know you're a bleeding coward..." Ginny disagreed. She'd seen him fighting Death Eaters; his back had been straight and his shoulders square. And sometimes Ginny tried to emulate how she'd seen him because it helped beat back the fear. But even brave people were allowed to be in a lot of pain.

He stepped closer to her. "Is that what you are, Gin? In a lot of pain?"

She shook her head. "Not a lot," she said. "You help."

His face twisted up in a grimace. "It's my fault--"

"No, it isn't," she said forcefully. She'd almost shouted and it surprised both of them. "Don't you dare blame yourself. Is that why you've stayed away? Because you blame yourself? You rescued me!" It was freeing, saying these words. Her throat hadn't stopped up, the words hadn't dried, and she was finally allowing herself to be honest. It hurt to talk about it, but it was a cleansing sort of pain.

He reached out and touched her. Ginny leaned into the touch. The ripples of dread that undulated across her skin whenever someone touched her never came. He threaded his fingers through her hair, lightly stroking. "You were the sweetest part of my life, and if you'd never met me..."

"I like knowing you," she said.

_And he leaned down and his lips were so close to hers--_

Ginny sat straight up in bed, heart pounding. She squeezed her eyes shut and Harry's face swam in her vision as though she was still dreaming. _Of course it was a dream,_she told herself sternly. Flopping back on the bed, she allowed herself to relive it. It had been a very long time since she'd dreamt of Harry kissing her (before Malfoy Manor, it had happened with somewhat embarrassing regularity), and it was such a departure from the normal nightmares, that she almost forgot that it had been three years, four months, and seventeen days since Malfoy Manor.

But the warmth from the dream faded and was replaced by the familiar tightening in her chest. She rolled over, reaching for Arnold. The pygmy puff was still sleeping, tangled up in her hair. She blinked blearily at him; he seemed to be breathing rather rapidly, as though he was having a nightmare. Frowning, she stared at him for a while.

Arnold continued to sleep while she dressed and prepared for an hour or so of flying, and he made a sleepy murmur when she tucked him in his bag to take down to the Quidditch pitch, but soon little snores were once more issuing from him. Ginny listened somewhat anxiously for a rattle or something else to signify that all was not well with Arnold, but other than his slight pant, he only appeared to be more tired than usual. She didn't even stay up in the air as long as she normally did; and was distracted enough to do several moves incorrectly.

She continued to fret over him. Her mild anxiety increased to worry when the pygmy puff only showed vague interest in her food -- she generally had to hold him back from eating bits of sausage or ham or even trying to drink her pumpkin juice. "What's wrong, Arnold?" she whispered. "Are you ill?"

"Talking to your pygmy puff again?" Pollux Sennet stopped behind her, and Ginny cursed her own timing and lack of observation. He spoke loudly, and Ginny saw a bunch of heads turning in their direction. Her face burned, and her throat felt very tight. "Don't you think that's a little crazy? Or are you--"

"Shut the fuck up, Sennet," Finch stood up, Demelza right behind him. Ginny wanted to hex the bastard again, but her limbs felt leaden, as though the weight of all the eyes on her was a physical thing. "Just keep on walking, you arsehole."

Sennet made a noise of disgust, but he moved away. Apparently he was not willing to risk the wrath of the Gryffindor Quidditch team just to taunt her. With fingers that trembled a little, she tried to coax Arnold to eat a bite of her bacon. His little tongue darted out and licked it. The backs of her eyes stung. _Get a hold of yourself,_ she thought fiercely. _You are not going to cry in front of everyone_. She wanted to thank them, but she didn't want to acknowledge what had just happened.

Mercifully, everyone turned their attention back to their food, and Finch and Demelza began to talk loudly about the match coming up against Slytherin, and everyone else offered their own opinions, all determinedly not mentioning what happened.

Ginny escaped the Great Hall as quickly as she could, wishing that the feelings she'd had upon waking up could have lasted a bit longer.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of increasing worry over Arnold (though she did spare a thought to wonder at Harry's increase in teaching skills), and by the time her pygmy puff had refused some of his treats, she decided that she needed to take him to someone who had experience with the care of magical creatures: Hagrid. She hoped Arnold was all right with Hagrid examining him; she knew how sensitive he could get around strangers. But he'd been so listless all day, and short of having Fred and George come out and take a look at him, Hagrid was the best person for the job.

Still, she kept up a stream of soothing chatter (after glancing around to make sure she was alone and no one could hear her talking to him) all the way to Hagrid's. "It's going to be all right, Arnold," she said. "Hagrid will know what to do. He's very big, you know, and it might be a little scary. But he's also quite gentle; he won't hurt you. I promise." Arnold seemed to like listening to her voice.

Hagrid spared her the necessity of having to gather her courage by already being outside, putting the finishing touches on the giant pumpkins that would decorate Hogwarts for Halloween. One of them was about ten times the size of Ginny, and she felt a measure of awe while standing next to it. She ran her hand over it, still not quite able to believe that pumpkins could grow _that_ big.

"Er, Hagrid?" she said. He didn't hear her. "Hagrid? Hagrid!"

He turned around and hid the pink umbrella he'd been using behind his back. "Hi there, Ginny!" he said. "How're you doin'?"

"I'm fine," she said. "But Arnold isn't."

"What's wrong with 'im?" he asked, coming closer. Ginny forced herself to stay where she was, reminding herself what she'd told Arnold: Hagrid was very big, but he was also very gentle.

"I don't know," Ginny admitted. "That's why I came to you. He's been lethargic all day." _If anything happens to Arnold..._

Hagrid peered at him, black eyes intent. A cold wind blew Ginny's hair in her face and Arnold shivered a little.

"Let's go inside where it's warmer," Hagrid suggested. "An' I'll be able to see 'im better."

Hagrid's hut was cozy; a fire already popped and crackled in the hearth. Fang gnawed on a bone at the foot of Hagrid's bed, and a stew (at least Ginny thought it was a stew, it smelled quite noxious) bubbled on the stove. It hadn't changed much when she'd first started coming here in the middle of her first year -- around the time that Harry had completed the second task and had gained a "moral victory" by ensuring both Ron and Gabrielle Delacour came safely out of the lake. She'd been so jealous of Gabrielle Delacour; she'd wanted to be the one that Harry had rescued, completely unaware of what something like that actually meant.

"Just lay Arnold on the table," Hagrid said, interrupting her thoughts. "And gimme some time to figure it out."

Ginny obeyed him, and then sat back and watched while Hagrid poked and prodded Arnold, who only made tiny, half-hearted protests at being so handled.

"I haven't -- haven't seen you at meals for a while," said Ginny, just to break the silence.

Moments passed, and Ginny was just about to decide that Hagrid hadn't heard her when he said, gruffly, "Think there's someone who don' want me there." Ginny didn't really know what to say, and when it became obvious that she wasn't going to respond, he continued. "Kep' tryin' to talk to 'im, but he kep' runnin' off."

_He's been doing that for several years,_ Ginny thought. She couldn't exactly blame him.

"Didn' want to--"

But Hagrid was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. Arnold stirred vaguely. "I'll get it," Ginny offered. She stepped over to the door, pulled it open, and stuck her head out to find Harry standing on the stoop, looking cold and slightly ill, as though his stomach hurt. Pushing away the paranoid idea that the universe was actually out to get her, she took a deep breath and said over her shoulder, "Hagrid, it's Professor Potter. He's here." In the wake of her dream, it was probably best to keep all the barriers in place.

"Well, don' leave 'im out in the cold, then," Hagrid said. Ginny could practically feel his astonishment.

"Er, come in," Ginny said, and pulled the door open wider. She fled back over to the table, where Arnold waited for her. She was a little surprised when Harry followed her in and closed the door.

"What happened to Arnold?" he asked, surprised.

"Tryin' to figure that out," Hagrid said. "Think I know what it is, but I wanna make sure."

"I thought he seemed a bit out of sorts today," Harry said. Ginny felt a little bit of warmth in her belly at the idea of Harry noticing Arnold's lethargy. For some inexplicable reason, this made her blush, and she ducked her head to hide it. She watched out of the corner of her eye how he shuffled his feet--

_CRACK!_

Arnold trilled and both Ginny and Hagrid jumped.

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly. Ginny's eyes widened when she noticed the elf. "Is that Kreacher?" she gaped. The last time she'd seen the ugly elf, he'd been screaming at the blood traitor Weasleys to get out of Grimmauld Place. It _appeared_ to be the same one, but when he set a plate piled high with delicious looking sandwiches on the table and bowed low, she grew even more uncertain.

"Miss Wheezy remembers!" the elf said, as though he had not called her an unnatural, red-headed bitch the first time he'd seen her.

"He's gone through some behaviour modification," Harry whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Obviously," Ginny muttered.

"What the ruddy hell is going on?" Hagrid asked, completely bewildered.

"Master has asked Kreacher to bring sandwiches," Kreacher said. "Kreacher is pleased that Master has people to share them with. Sometimes Kreacher prepares huge meals in hopes--"

But Harry had stuck a hand over Kreacher's mouth. "And sometimes Kreacher talks too much," he said darkly. "Thanks for the sandwiches, Kreacher. Go on home now." And the elf, unable to disobey a direct order, disappeared. Harry looked quite uncomfortable, even embarrassed, by the elf's words, and Ginny felt a little pang when she realized how lonely he must have been if even an elf like Kreacher had noticed it.

"These look real good," Hagrid said, finally breaking the silence. "Just gimme another minute with Arnold and I'll get us some plates an' stuff."

"Er, all right," Harry said.

"Arnold is going to be all right," Hagrid announced. Ginny felt a wave of relief that started from her head and went down to her toes. Hagrid's beard twitched, as though he was making a mighty effort not to smile.

She felt a flash of indignation. _Why would he--_

"That Fred and George," he shook his massive, shaggy head, chuckling. "Arnold isn't ill, or anythin'. He's goin' through puberty, and I reckon he wants a girlfriend real bad."

"What?" Ginny said blankly.

"He's in heat," Hagrid continued cheerfully.

"But Arnold is a bloke," Harry pointed out. "Isn't he? Isn't that more of a female thing?"

"Mostly, that's the case," Hagrid shrugged. "But there's a species of mouse -- a magical one, o' course, an' some think they were created by an odd wizard a long time ago -- that do things backwards. An' I'll bet Fred an' George used that species to breed the pygmy puffs in the firs' place. Always wondered how they'd done it... those twins... almos' worse than the Marauders, Harry."

Ginny's brow furrowed. "You mean... the lethargy, the lack of eating... Arnold just wants a girlfriend?"

"Isn' that the way it always is? Were he a studen', I'd say he'd be writin' some bad poetry about now," Hagrid asked, beetle-black eyes twinkling madly. "Don' worry, it won' last for more'n a few days. But it'll happen again. It's sorta a cycle, you see."

_How like Fred and George to do this!_

"Now, how abou' them sandwiches?" Hagrid asked.

Ginny took one and ate it, still bemused. The conversation over the meal was generally kept up by Hagrid, though Harry offered a few contributions ("How is Grawp?" and "You never actually found him a lady friend, did you?"). She was relaxed enough to almost forget who she was with, and was distracted enough by Arnold's unique predicament to not feel too awkward. And it was almost with reluctance that she realized it was fully dark outside and time to go.

"Thanks for the help, Hagrid," she said, standing up.

"You're leaving?" Harry said quickly. She saw a flash of something like panic in his green eyes. "I'll walk with you. You shouldn't -- it's dark."

"Are the two of you goin' to the feast tomorrow?" Hagrid asked suddenly.

"Er," said Harry.

"Um," said Ginny.

Hagrid took this as a no. "Thought I might like to have a quiet Halloween," he said. "Jus' me an' Fang. But if either of you would rather be here than up at the castle..."

Ginny shocked herself by agreeing. Harry assented at nearly the same time, and his face revealed his own surprise. Hagrid looked extremely satisfied, though he didn't mention it. _Probably a good thing, if he wants Harry to come_, Ginny thought. "I do need to go," she said. "Thank you for helping me with Arnold, Hagrid--"

"I'm glad it ain't anythin' serious," Hagrid said.

"Good night," Harry said quietly, and held the door open for her.

They walked in silence up the hill. Ginny suddenly remembered what Fred and George had said. Harry had contacted Remus Lupin, asking after Ron and Hermione. _He must miss them a lot,_ she thought, feeling slightly sad for him, that he hadn't been able to go home after the war. She understood why he hadn't, but she could see the toll three years of being alone had taken on him.

_I should tell him about them,_ she thought. She should tell him that Bill and Fleur had a baby and Charlie had lost a finger to a dragon (it had been a Hungarian Horntail). She wondered if he knew that Percy had come back to the family, and was now probably the most fiercely loyal of all of them. He might like to know. But the 'might' made her throat close up and no words emerge, and when he said goodnight at the doors, she let him go without a word.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

31 October 2001

Harry met Ginny at the bottom of the stairs in the Entrance Hall feeling more than a little apprehensive. _Why did I agree to do this again?_ he kept asking himself incredulously. Of all the people to spend Halloween night with, he chose Hagrid and_Ginny_? If someone had told him this three months ago, he would never have believed it. If Remus or Dora or Kingsley (those he kept in contact with) had tried to orchestrate these events, he would have run in the opposite direction. _So why am I doing this_?

Despite the fact that he had thought about this pretty much all day, he was no closer to an answer, other than the fact that the small meal the three of them had shared had been the first dinner in a very long time that Harry hadn't felt lonely.

The hall was empty; everyone else was already enjoying the feast. Harry could hear a low roll of thunder -- the students' voices -- from behind the closed doors of the Great Hall. The moment they met promised to be very awkward; Harry still had no idea where to look when he spoke to her, nor did he know exactly what to say. Conversational starters like _Hi. Can you believe we're doing this? Have we gone insane or what?_ or _Are you as confused as I am?_ seemed inappropriate.

Arnold, however, made everything far more manageable. He was in his little bag that Ginny sometimes carried him in, and he was making the most pitiful moans Harry had ever heard.

"He's been doing it all day," said Ginny, guessing where his thoughts had gone. She sounded frustrated and a little annoyed. "I want to put a Silencing Charm on him, but after I owled Fred and George to tell them what was going on, they messaged me, telling me to let him 'express himself.'"

Harry hid a grin behind his hand. The idea of Ginny having a male pygmy puff experiencing puberty and freakish hormones struck him as so absurd that it had made him laugh all day. _I wonder if Fred and George did it on purpose,_ he thought. He couldn't imagine that they hadn't known what they were getting into with a magically altered species of mice. Not for the first time, he realized that giving Fred and George the thousand galleon winnings from the Triwizard tournament had been one of his most sound financial decisions.

"Are you ready to go?" Ginny asked. There was a note in her voice that told him that she would be more than willing to stay behind and go back up to her dormitory if Harry decided that going wasn't a good idea. This, more than anything, made him open the doors and lead the way down the slope to Hagrid's hut. He didn't like the idea of her being alone for the night; not when everyone else was having a great deal of fun. _Not that my company is going to be fun for her,_ he thought.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. He tipped his head back and looked at the stars stretched across the canvas of the night sky. "Arnold has it pretty bad, then?"

"Yes," said Ginny after a pause. "Demelza said that he sounds like her cat. This was even before she found out his particular problem."

Hagrid's hut came into view. Harry stopped; gaping. The largest bonfire he'd ever seen blazed. A small, shadowy figure beside it (Hagrid) kept struggling with a huge shadowy figure (Grawp). "I guess we'll be outside tonight," Harry said unnecessarily. Ginny made a noncommittal answer in the back of her throat, and they continued on.

"Is that Harry an' Ginny an' Arnold?" Hagrid called. Arnold moaned and wiggled around in his bag as if in reply.

"It's us," Harry confirmed.

"Grab yerselves a butterbeer and find a seat," Hagrid ordered.

The tension in his shoulders relaxed a little. He'd been surprised last night when Hagrid had not mentioned, by word or gesture, Voldemort, Malfoy Manor, and Harry's long absence. Harry supposed that Ginny's presence had something to do with it; she acted like a buffer, and Harry was grateful. And it appeared as though it would work tonight as well. For the next hour, Hagrid sang songs and entertained them with chatter about the various magical creatures living in the forest.

"Remind me never to go into the Forbidden Forest again," said Harry, after a particularly harrowing tale about an acromantula and a hippogryff, and Hagrid's timely intervention. Arnold warbled. "See? Even Arnold agrees."

"Now, Harry," Hagrid said patiently. "Ye know that ye just gotta treat 'em with respect."

"I have so much respect for them that I'll just stay away, thanks," said Harry. "Seeing a dead acromantula was enough for me. I'd never, ever want to see a live one."

"You must've inherited your fear of spiders from Ron," Ginny murmured.

"I'm not _afraid_ of spiders," Harry said defensively. But the mention of Ron was enough to unsettle him, and he was silent. The other two didn't speak either, but sipped their drinks. The fire continued to burn without any sort of fuel, and Grawp had begun to harmonize with Arnold's girlfriend-seeking trills. _Merlin, I hope_ Grawp _never goes into heat,_ Harry thought with a shudder, trying to force his thoughts away from dangerous territory.

The minutes passed. Then Ginny took a deep breath, as though girding herself for something, gave him a fleeting look, and then turned to Hagrid. "Did I tell you how well Fred and George are doing?" she asked. "They've bought a new shop in Hogsmeade--"

"Remind me to warn Flitwick," Hagrid interrupted comfortably.

"George is dating Angelina--"

"_Angelina?_" Harry asked incredulously before he could stop himself. "Wasn't Fred dating her?"

She waved her hand. "They were never serious. Angelina likes to tease Fred that she'd thought she was saying yes to George... but they seem pretty happy so far. Mum despairs that Fred will never get married..."

And Harry listened as Ginny spoke about her family. He suspected she knew how much he missed them, though he didn't know how... was it that obvious? But he was grateful for the gift she gave him. Just a few weeks ago he'd wanted to run away from hearing about Ron and Hermione's life. But tonight it felt right. She gave him a healthy amount of information about Bill and Fleur, her mum, Ron and Hermione, Fred and George, and Charlie and Percy. He sat back on his hands, gazed up at the sky, and listened, drinking it in.


	7. Ginny in the Sky

07 November 2001

Tensions between Gryffindor and Slytherin ran at an all time high in the days leading up to the first match of the season, and Ginny was just as caught up in the whirl of it all as the rest of her teammates, though she reacted to it in a different way. _I suppose we all manage it in different ways_, Ginny told herself. Demelza strutted around the school, though Ginny knew that it was false: the bravado hid anxiety. Finch was a notorious vomiter, and visited the boys' washroom several times a day. Fallon Primrose obsessively cleaned her broom; Dane Warren talked loudly about how nervous he _wasn't_ to anyone who would listen. The Seeker, Jason Swyft, a third year and new, kept going to the hospital wing complaining of an unverified stomach ailment, and the Keeper, Brock Fabry, hadn't said a word for a week.

Ginny wandered through the week, feeling a heady mixture of fear and exhilaration._It's just flying_, she told herself whenever the fear threatened to take over. _You're good at flying_. Ironically, the closer Saturday and the match came, the more confident she felt. The sky was the only place where she truly felt like home anymore, and that feeling generally stayed with her all the way through a match. The idea that bothered her the most, Ginny had to admit, was the idea that Harry might be there. Watching. Things had eased between them a bit. Ginny could look him in the eye during class, and he could call on her to answer a questions with ease--

"Miss Weasley?" Professor Slughorn said patiently, cutting into her thoughts. Ginny had the feeling this was not the first time he'd attempted to get her attention. Unfortunately, Potions had never been her most stellar subject; she'd only taken it because her mum had encouraged her to, saying that having a NEWT in Potions set people ahead.

"Yes, sir," she said.

"We've begun the lesson," he said. He spoke quietly; no one else could overhear him, for which Ginny was grateful. She hated being caught distracted in class; sometimes it was just so hard to pay attention, especially in Potions.

"Thanks, sir," she said dutifully. "Sorry, sir."

The week was riddled with such instances, and by the time Saturday rolled around, Ginny was more than ready for the match.

That Saturday morning, the Great Hall was so full that it appeared to be a feast day. Ginny glanced around in astonishment; this size of a crowd was not what she remembered. And ever since she'd been on the team, she'd avoided public places on match days. Seeing the excitement and hearing the customary jeering was a bit daunting.

_Maybe I shouldn't have brought Arnold,_ Ginny thought doubtfully. The pygmy puff's already big eyes were about three times the size as usual as he stared around at the spectacle. His nails clutched at the collar of her Quidditch uniform, and she regretted not leaving him in the dorm, already anticipating scratches in the cloth. But she never knew how long the matches would last (the one between Slytherin and Ravenclaw had lasted for six hours last year), and it wasn't good for Arnold to be without her for so long. Leaving him behind during breakfast would have been pushing it.

She took a seat beside a few second years, and Demelza sat down right next to her. She ladled a healthy portion of waffles and sausages onto her plate. Beside her, Demelza's plate was empty; the other girl looked quite green.

"How can you eat?" Demelza whimpered, finally letting her bravado fall completely and giving into the nerves.

"I'm a Weasley," said Ginny loftily, even as her stomach growled. "I can eat anytime and anywhere." Arnold warbled, as though agreeing with her.

"At least he isn't in heat anymore," said Emma Dobbs (who avoided brooms with as much fervor as others avoided dragon pox carriers). She leaned over, smirking.

Ginny couldn't help but agree. The three days that Arnold had so desperately needed a girlfriend had not been pretty. Thankfully, it had happened over the weekend, but what would she do if next time he had a hormonal attack while classes were in session? She knew one professor would understand, but Harry was a special case.

She glanced up at the staff table. He wasn't there, although she hadn't expected him to be. Harry didn't join them for breakfast very often on weekends. _He probably still likes having a lie-in,_ she thought.

"Think he'll go to the match?" Demelza asked.

"Er -- who?"

"Professor Potter, of course," she said. "I'll bet he does, if only to see how his old team is doing."

"Professor Potter played Quidditch?" a second year girl who sat next to Ginny -- Aisling Powell -- gaped at them, fork halfway to her mouth. She seemed quite surprised, almost unnaturally so. Stuart Method and Elizabeth Barnett nudged each other, and focused keen attention on Demelza.

"It's not like it's some big secret," Emma snorted. Ginny stroked Arnold, hiding a smile. The three second years obviously had a bad case of hero worship; they always seemed to perk up whenever someone brought of his name.

_I remember what that was like,_ Ginny thought ruefully. She'd spent years trying to get every detail about his life that she could -- poor Ron had sat through many of her rather comprehensive interrogations (that had, of course, been his own fault; had his letters been more frequent and more detailed, she wouldn't have had to question him so thoroughly).

"He was the youngest Seeker in a hundred years," offered Ginny. "Professor McGonagall saw him at his very first flying lesson and immediately recruited him for the team." Stuart, Aisling, and Elizabeth appeared to hang on her every word. The scrutiny made her throat close up. "He was really good," she finished lamely, tearing off a piece of her bacon and offering it to Arnold.

She let the conversation drift by her, and focused instead on feeding herself and her pygmy puff and watching the staff table. _I wonder if Demelza's right and he'll come to the match._ Ginny was almost positive that she wanted him there, though the thought made her stomach swoop. He'd never seen her fly before, she didn't think. Back when he'd been a regular visitor at the Burrow, she'd still been forced to practice in secret in the dead of night and on stolen brooms.

_I hope he's impressed._

Immediately, her face heated up. _No one likes a show-off, Ginny,_ she told herself sharply. _And why would he be impressed? He's brilliant at flying; you don't even come close._

"All right there, Ginny?" Demelza asked.

The question set her nerves on edge and she gritted her teeth. _I'd be better if people would just stop asking me that,_ she thought bitterly. Instead, she said, "I'm _fine_."

"Okay, okay," Demelza muttered under her breath, obviously put off by Ginny's terse tone.

Ginny winced, wanting to apologize, but didn't really know how. _How do you say you're sorry to someone because they annoyed you?_ She wavered, and then felt a moment of relief when the morning post arrived. Her parents' big barn owl, Magellan, landed right in front of her. She grasped the envelope, and her happiness at the owl's timely distraction dissipated when she recognized the handwriting.

It was a letter from her father.

_He knows just when to time it, doesn't he?_ she thought angrily. Every damn time she had something big coming up, something she wanted to focus all her attention on, her father always managed to write her. And it always rattled her. She never read the letters -- she could never bring herself to, and it infuriated her that after three years, he still hadn't gotten the fact that she wasn't ever going to write him back. _Because he really_ was _weak and--_

"Ginny, it's almost time for you to go," said Emma, gesturing at the rest of the team.

"Thanks," Ginny said bracingly. She hooked her hair behind her ears, hating the fact that her hands trembled a little. A queasy sort of gratitude filled her for Emma's timely interruption of her thoughts.

"D'you want me to take Arnold up to our dorm for you?" Emma asked.

"No, thanks," Ginny murmured, standing up. The rest of the team were already on their feet, flushing with pleasure (and nerves) and bowing to the cheers. It was tumultuous and Ginny was just about to make her escape--

A hand closed over her elbow, and before she could even react, she was pulled into a tight circle of bodies. _No._ And suddenly the nervous laughter was transformed into something dark, colder. Finch's voice deepened into a growl, and Demelza's breath was hot on the back of her neck.

_No._

She pushed herself out of the group hug and raced blindly toward the doors of the Great Hall, clutching her broom and her dad's letter in one hand, and Arnold in the other. Beyond caring if anyone was watching her, she let the panic drive her to the nearest washroom. Once there, she dropped the broom and the letter and leaned heavily against the wall. The tile was cool agains ther back, and her heartbeat slowed from a wild gallop to its more natural rhythm.

The panic was always swift to crash over her and slow to recede, like a tide of bad memories and impressions that echoed from the past and seemed so real even now, three years, four months, and twenty five days since Malfoy Manor. However innocent the new Seeker's intentions had been to pull her into the impromptu group hug, touch combined with close quarters to several people was one definite way to send Ginny back to the worst months of her life.

_Even though it's been three years, four months, and twenty five days,_ Ginny thought hopelessly. She leaned over the sink, turned it on, and splashed cool water on her face.

"Sorry, Arnold," she whispered, gathering up her Nimbus 2121 and the letter --_ I ought to throw it away_ -- and, straightening her shoulders, left the washroom. Sheer determination carried her out the doors and down the slope. Her footsteps quickened once she realized she'd spent much more time recovering than she'd thought. The stands were filled with students and professors alike. She glanced down and her watch and began to sprint.

_Five minutes to the start of the match._

_Finch is going to kill me._

Arnold squeaked wildly, unaccustomed to being jostled, and his legs flailed as she threw herself at the changing room.

"Ginny!"

"Thank _Merlin_ you're here; I don't know _what_--"

"Finch was about to--"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"

The greetings, relieved shouts, and apologies from her teammates washed over her. And then--

"Ginny! Why did you bring Arnold?" Demelza was shocked.

Ginny stared down at Arnold as if she had never seen him before. Unhappy mutters reached her ears and increased with volume. For the first time since Fred had given him to her, the sight of him did not offer her comfort. There was a resurgence of nausea; her stomach dropped. _I can't just leave him here..._

She was struck with an idea, her only option, and began to back out of the door.

"What're you doing?" Finch asked, outraged. "We haven't got any _time_--"

"I'll be right back," promised Ginny. _Please let him be here._

The wind was bitter and cold as she scanned the crowd. The Slytherins were out in force; the green and silver seemed to take up half the stands, and the red and gold the other half. _Let him be here, let him be here, let him be here..._

And then she saw a mop of untidy black hair. He sat high up in the commentator's box beside Professor McGonagall. Neither one of them pretended they weren't completely biased in favor of Gryffindor; both had Gryffindor scarves wrapped around their necks. Professor McGonagall even wore a banner like a sash over her robes.

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, she straddled her broom and kicked off, launching herself into the air. Arnold screamed; he detested heights. "Sorry, Arnold," she said again. _Thank Merlin he's here._ She didn't know what she would have done with Arnold had he decided to hide in his quarters.

"Professor Potter!" she shouted over the wind and students. He didn't hear her. "Professor! _Harry_!"

He finally turned to her, and his green eyes widened. "_Ginny?_ You play _Quidditch_?"

The shock in his voice was both gratifying and annoying, but she couldn't blame him. Her brothers had been even more surprised and far less polite. "Yeah," she said. She took a deep breath. "Listen, would you--"

"Which position?" he asked eagerly, apparently unaware that the match was about to start and now was not the time to chat.

"She's a Chaser," said Dennis Creevey. Ginny started. She hadn't even noticed he was there, though she should have. Professors never commentated at the matches after all. "And she's bloody brilliant. She--"

"Will you watch Arnold for me?" Ginny blurted, watching Harry carefully. Creevey said something else, but she ignored him. An expression almost like fear passed over Harry's face. _Please, please, please,_ she chanted.

His brow furrowed, and Ginny had the feeling that he was searching for something in her own face, his gaze was so intense. Whatever he found there must have confused him further; Ginny could practically see the refusal blooming.

"_Please_?"

He blinked and ruffled his hair. "Er -- all right," he said finally. He sounded bemused. "I've been thinking that Arnold needs some bloke time anyway."

"You're probably right about that," Ginny admitted. She flew close enough so that Arnold would be perfectly safe during the transfer. Harry took Arnold with ease -- the pygmy puff was practically limp with fear. She felt a brief pang. It was the first time someone else besides her had held him.

"Thanks," she said. And she flew away.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

07 November 2001

It was a strange feeling for Harry, sitting in the commentator's box. It felt wrong somehow, as though he had been catapulted years into the past. He could barely suppress the urge to rush down the the changing room and throw on his uniform and play Seeker, once more, for Gryffindor. Perhaps it was the tumultuous excitement from the students in the stands, or maybe it was because the sense that he'd been cheated out of his final year in school lingered. But whatever the cause, Harry felt a potent mix of nostalgia, regret, and even jealousy.

"Knut for your thoughts?" McGonagall said.

"They aren't worth that much," said Harry. "Just waiting for the match to start.

She sighed.

"I miss Quidditch," Harry admitted in a low voice. There was only one other occupant of the commentator's box, but he did not feel like having a heartfelt discussion in front of Dennis Creevey. Or, really, anything besides small talk about weather and how Gryffindor would crush Slytherin in just a few moments.

"The Gryffindor Quidditch team misses you," she told him dryly. "A Seeker of your caliber comes very rarely."

"Thanks," Harry murmured. His thoughts strayed to Ginny Weasley, and he searched the crowd for her. He knew he'd see her straight away: her hair was that vivid a color. But there was little hope of her being here; he'd already noticed that she avoided situations where there was sure to be a crowd.

He hadn't seen her since Halloween. Well, he'd seen her in class, but that didn't count. Not that he would have, but what if she was avoiding him even more since they'd spent the evening together at Hagrid's? It was unusual that he hadn't seen her at meals, and there was a very real possibility that he'd frightened her off somehow. Though he had no idea what he'd said to--

"Harry?" McGonagall sounded annoyed, as though she'd been trying to get his attention for some time.

"Sorry?" he said politely.

"I said that you can't miss flying that much; you spend hours in the air every evening," she said tartly.

"Er," said Harry, cutting a glance at Creevey. The boy was struggling to keep warm, and was not paying them the slightest bit of attention. "It's not quite the same."

And it wasn't. Being here, getting ready to watch a match for the first time in years, just illuminated how accustomed he'd grown to being alone. He generally ate alone and flew alone; he always slept alone, and Halloween night with Ginny of all people had been the most relaxed he'd been around other people since before Malfoy Manor.

"_Harry_!"

He looked up, startled. As though his thoughts had conjured her, Ginny Weasley sat atop a broom, hovering, and gazing at him with an anxious look on her face. She was dressed in a uniform and it was more than obvious that she was about to play. "_Ginny?_ You play _Quidditch_?" he said before he could stop himself. She grimaced.

"Yeah. Listen, would you--"

But Harry could not exert control over his own mouth. "Which position?"

"She's a Chaser," said Creevey, to Harry's annoyance. Ginny was capable of answering for herself. He wondered if it bothered her that Creevey eyed her with a puppy-like devotion. "And she's bloody brilliant. She--"

Ginny cut across him. "Will you watch Arnold for me?"

Harry resisted the impulse to check to make sure she was actually talking to him, Harry, and not someone else sitting just behind him. She was looking him straight in the eye, for one, and he didn't know any other 'Professor Harry Potters' in the vicinity._But why would she ask me, of all people, to keep an eye on something obviously so precious to her?_ The moment lengthened and he found himself without words.

"I'll watch Arnold for you," Creevey said like a simpleton. But Ginny ignored him, so Harry did too. He searched her face. _Why are you asking me? How can you trust me with Arnold?_ He didn't think he could do it.

"Please?" she said. And Harry had to accept the fact that she not only trusted him with Arnold, but that she'd sought him out before anyone else. _Her_ Arnold. Arnold the most pampered, well-loved, and fiercely protected pygmy puff in the world.

_I hope you know what you're doing,_ he told her silently. "Er, all right," he said, acutely aware of McGonagall's intense scrutiny. "I've been thinking that Arnold needs some bloke time."

"You're probably right," she said. She flashed him a smile -- a real one -- and flew closer, holding the wide-eyed pygmy puff out to him. Arnold looked as uncertain of this new development as Harry felt. But he took him carefully, and before he could ask her if she was certain, she flew away to join her team.

Arnold immediately tried to wriggle out of Harry's grasp. "No, you don't," Harry told him firmly. Arnold blinked at him, looking chastened. He hung his little head, and his body hunched, but Harry remained stoic. "Your Ginny would be _very_ upset if anything happened to you."

He looked up just in time to see McGonagall hide a smile. "What?" he said defensively. "She would be."

"Oh, I know Miss Weasley would be quite upset indeed were anything to happen to Arnold," agreed McGonagall. The amused look slid off her face, and Harry could practically see the questions forming in her eyes, and he was suddenly grateful for Creevey's presence.

Almost two hours later, Harry loped down the stairs, Arnold held protectively to his chest. He was still in a state of shock: _Where did she learn to fly like that? And when?_ Talent like that would have been obvious, even among a Quidditch-mad family like the Weasleys. No, he would have remembered if he'd ever seen her on a broom.

The crowd pushed their way down the stairs; Harry resisted using magic to force the students out of his way. But he forced himself to wade through the sulking Slytherins and the jubilant Gryffindors. Arnold kept up a constant stream of commentary: whistling, warbling, and trilling. _He really is a cute little guy,_ Harry thought fondly, just after the pygmy puff swiped at a sixth year Ravenclaw who was trying too hard to impress witches to move quickly.

It took an interminably long time to get from the commentator's box to the outside of the changing room. He got there just in time to see Demelza Robins and Jeremy Finch exit, flushed with victory and holding hands. "Hi, Professor Potter," they said in unison.

"Good game," he smiled at them. He held up Arnold and gestured toward the door. "Is she still in there?"

"Yeah," said Finch.

"She waits until the rest of us are done changing and washing," Robins explained further. "So she might be a while."

They exchanged glances. "Thanks for watching Arnold," said Finch. "She usually doesn't forget that she isn't supposed to bring him to the matches, but--"

"It wasn't a problem," Harry said firmly, hoping to discourage the Beater from continuing. He did not like the note of condescension in the Quidditch captain's voice; he obviously meant well, but Ginny had just proven that she could outfly Finch with both hands off the broom, and was entitled to more respect.

"Er -- thanks," said Robins. She started moving, pulling Finch along. "We've got that party in the common room, Jeremy, let's go."

Harry watched them go and leaned up against the wall. Arnold, obviously exhausted from all the excitement, had gone from having an almost appalling amount of energy to limp in about ten seconds. He'd curled up against Harry's neck and now snored softly, leaving a moist spot from his drool.

The rest of the players exited. Harry offered them congratulations, but none of them stopped to chat, for which he was grateful. He stamped his feet to ward off the chill, and considered putting a Warming Charm on himself the way he'd done Arnold.

There was a burst of warm air and a flowery scent, and Ginny rushed out of the door. She stopped in her tracks, apparently surprised to find him waiting for her.

"How in Merlin's name did you learn to fly like that?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. He winced. _Want to insult her some more, Potter?_ "I'm--"

"I started stealing my brothers' brooms at the age of six," she said. She threw him a smug, defiant look that held a hint of laughter in it. "They never let me fly with them, you see. And neither did their _friends._" She slung her Nimbus 2121 over her shoulder and turned to walk back to the castle.

Harry shifted Arnold a little. He could definitely remember Ginny begging to be allowed to play Quidditch with them at the Burrow. And he just as vividly remembered Ron and the twins always refusing. And Harry hadn't attempted to speak up for her. _I didn't know she was any_ good, he thought defensively. Still, he felt compelled to once more attempt to apologize. "I'm--"

"Don't apologize," she said, smirking at him over her shoulder. "I got my revenge by using the brooms without permission." And then she grinning at him, a full-fledged smile that bloomed across her face and made his chest suddenly feel a bit tight. "I_particularly_ enjoyed stealing _yours_."

Harry stopped in his tracks, then hurried forward until his strides matched hers. "You used my Firebolt?" he asked incredulously.

"Mm hmm," she murmured. "I spent an entire day on it while you and the boys were at the Quidditch World Cup."

For some reason, Harry had no trouble whatsoever with imagining that. He could very easily reconcile this talented Chaser with the little girl who had never wanted to be left behind. "I'm glad you practiced on my broom, Gin," he said honestly. "You really flew brilliantly today." He wanted to tell her that she'd been the best out there, but thought she might view this as flattery rather than simple truth.

"That means a lot coming from the youngest Hogwarts player in a hundred years," she pointed out.

"Imagine if we'd been on the team together," said Harry, who saw no need for false modesty. And he could see it easily; Slytherin never would have stood a chance. "We could've taken over the world."

She laughed.

_That's the first time I've heard her laugh since Bill and Fleur's wedding,_ Harry thought dazedly. Even the smiles that never reached her eyes were rare; the real ones rarer still.

"That's a little ambitious, isn't it?" she asked; there was still a trace of laughter in her voice.

"Maybe just the Quidditch League, then," Harry allowed.

They lapsed into silence; Arnold's snores seemed to grow quite loud all of a sudden. Harry scrambled for something to say, something innocent, before thoughts of Malfoy Manor could shatter the easiness between them. He could almost feel it creeping up on them, like distant thunder growing closer.

_Think, Harry, think._

Finally, he landed on something. "Are you--"

"I'm _fine_," she snapped, interrupting him. She sounded quite irritated all of a sudden.

Harry gaped at her, confused. _Why would she--?_ Then sudden understanding startled a laugh out of him. "I wasn't going to ask if you're all right," he assured her. "I _hate_ that question." It just brought all the issues right up to the surface where Harry couldn't ignore them. Judging from her reaction, he thought she might have this same problem. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he stole another glance at her. Her cheeks matched her hair.

"Sorry," she muttered after a few steps. "It's just -- you paused for a really long time. And usually people..."

"Ah yes," said Harry, nodding wisely. He knew exactly what she was talking about. "Usually people follow up a long pause with a look of pity and then--"

"--the soft voice of concern, asking that damned question," Ginny continued for him, rolling her eyes.

"'Are you all right'?" they finished together.

Harry was surprised to find that he was smiling, and even more so that Ginny was as well. Before he could figure out why talking about his second most dreaded question was suddenly funny, they reached the large doors that led to the Entrance Hall. He pulled one open, and she ducked in. They didn't speak until they reached the bottom of the stairs leading to Gryffindor Tower.

"Can I have Arnold back now?" she asked.

Harry handed over the sleeping pygmy puff.

"He's really warm," she said, surprised.

"I put a Heating Charm on him," Harry told her.

Her lips twitched. "He has fur," she pointed out.

"It was really cold," he said defensively. _And I didn't want anything to happen to him; not on my watch._ To his relief, she dropped the topic.

"Thanks," she said. "I appreciate it. I sort of forgot that I still had him with me."

"Anytime," said Harry. He even meant it. They lingered at the bottom of the stairs for a few more moments. He wasn't really ready to head back to his quarters yet. "D'you want to fly with me?" he asked suddenly, surprising even himself.

Her brow furrowed, and she glanced at the doors. "Right now?" she asked dubiously.

"Er, no," Harry said, wishing he hadn't said anything. "I fly in the evenings after dinner. I mean, you don't--"

"I'd like that," she said.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

07 November 2001

It was the conversation with Minerva McGonagall that had Molly Weasley staring at her clock. The Gryffindor Quidditch team had won. Ginny had flown with enough precision and skill to impress even McGonagall, who had seen many players come and go.

It was always worse when Molly heard about Ginny and the way she flew. She reached out and stroked her daughter's hand on the clock. It pointed at Malfoy Manor just as firmly as ever. Hers and Harry's overlapped. "She just seems so alive and so _present_when she's flying," Molly said out loud. Last summer, she'd seen Ron and Ginny racing across the sky, and Ginny's face had been lit with fierce abandon, and Molly's heart had leapt into her throat, and she'd thought _This is it. There's no way that she can look like that and still be absent._ But the clock was unchanged.

Just like now.

Arthur, the only other person at the Burrow (besides the ghoul, which Molly didn't count), didn't answer, though a flicker of sadness crossed his face. He'd just sent off a letter to their daughter, and he struggled with not hoping that this time she'd finally write back. Molly didn't have the heart to tell her husband that she'd found a packet of his unopened letters in Ginny's trunk; she suspected he knew anyway.

"I wish she could've had the memories taken away," he said finally.

Molly did too. But whatever Ginny had experienced -- they knew it was bad, but she'd never actually spoken of it, not even once -- had been too big to forget. There would've been another resident in the long-term care ward at St. Mungo's. _It would break her mind,_ the Healer that Harry had sent to the Burrow along with Ginny had said. _It wouldn't erase the emotional memories, and she'd find herself having the same feelings, with no understanding as to why she feels the way she does. That way lies insanity._

None of the Weasleys wanted that, of course. A sane, distant, and hurting Ginny was far better than the alternative. But so much time had passed with such little improvement that sometimes she felt she was hoping for the impossible.

"Minerva said she had a good game," said Arthur, as though Molly had not been in the same room just a few minutes ago. The Order of the Phoenix member and Head of Gryffindor House had still been flushed and exultant from a victory. It had been obvious that she'd run right off the pitch; Molly had been quite grateful to see her. Minerva had been somewhat reticent lately. And since Ginny would never let them attend the matches, they had to hear about it second-hand.

"Funny thing that our girl is supposedly better at Quidditch than our boys," said Molly.

"I'm not surprised," said Arthur. "She's always wanted to be right along with them in everything she did."

Molly was just about to reply when she heard a whirring sound and caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She stared down at the clock. None of the hands had moved; most of her boys were still at work, and Ron was still at home. The only hand that showed any flicker of motion at all was Ginny's. Even as she watched it, it bounced a little, as though it had taken a quick lap around the face and jerked to a halt where it had begun.

_What could that mean?_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

_If you'd like something to read while awaiting the next chapter, I have two recommendations for you. Brighter Than Sunshine (by hgfan1111) and Battle of Souls (by mhersheybar) are two very good, very well-plotted, and very enjoyable stories. The characterization in both is head and shoulders above a lot of the other stuff on , and both have sinister undercurrents that make them thought-provoking. So go read!_


	8. Take These Broken Wings

08 November 2001 - 11 November 2001

Three years, four months, and twenty six days after Malfoy Manor, Ginny fully intended to fly in the evenings with Harry.

His invitation had both intrigued her and startled her enough to get her to say yes, and she'd alternated between looking forward to it and dreading it. Strangely, as the Sunday following the match blurred by, she'd found herself looking forward to it more and more and dreading it less and less. Harry made it easy for her to forget to be humiliated, and she found his presence more restful than she could have imagined. Had she asked herself last summer, for instance, how she would react to extended periods of time in Harry's company, she would've thought that she'd be restless and jittery and dying to escape.

But he was so completely undemanding of her that she could place Malfoy Manor in the back of her mind and forget that she'd dreamed of him attempting to kiss her twice now and simply enjoy the fact that someone who might have more baggage than she did existed. It wasn't very kind or caring of her, but he made it clear that not only did he understand why being asked if she was all right irritated her so much, but that he felt the same way.

Unfortunately, just before she was about to go down to dinner and then to the pitch, her period started with a vengeance and forced her to stay in Gryffindor Tower. _And it's not like I can send him a note,_ Ginny thought, curled up on her side in the fetal position, and holding a pillow up to her stomach. _Hi, Harry, sorry I couldn't join you, but I'm bleeding. You know. From _there. _Because I'm a girl, and the universe hates girls._

Once her crankiness annoyed even her (and there was no escaping the mean little thoughts in her own head), Ginny entertained herself by imagining embarrassing things happening.

Three years, four months, and twenty seven days after Malfoy Manor, the cramping had eased, and she'd be able to sit a broom again without too much pain, but Ginny didn't join Harry. He'd looked at her questioningly during class, as though he wanted to know why she hadn't met him the night before. _What if he asks me?_ she thought, feeling paranoid. _And what if I suddenly blurt out the truth and he can't even look me in the eye anymore?_ She reminded herself that her throat closed up over the most minor of things, and that it was highly doubtful she'd be able to talk about it even if she wanted to (not that she ever would in a million years), and she was just being silly.

Three years, four months, and twenty nine days after Malfoy Manor, her period was almost over, and Ginny felt more confident that she wouldn't embarrass herself (or him) by blurting out uncomfortable truths. But surely she'd missed her chance? Maybe his invitation had had a specific window of opportunity and she'd missed it originally because of the cramping, and then because she'd been worried over nothing.

She wanted to linger after class and ask him if his offer still stood, but she didn't.

Three years, four months, and thirty days after Malfoy Manor, a letter from her mother arrived in the evening and sent her straight out to the pitch.

She knew immediately when she saw Magellan coast into the Great Hall at dinner that she would not like what she found. Normal, routine letters (and even the ones from her father landed in this category) arrived in the morning. Her mother only sent post that got to Ginny in the evening when she was uncertain of how it would be received and had procrastinated until she'd finally sent it. Molly Weasley procrastinating was not a good sign.

_Dear Ginny,_

Professor McGonagall told us all about your Quidditch match the other day. Twelve goals! We're very proud of you; all of your hard work has paid off. Your brothers are very impressed (and slightly jealous, I think). We would all like to see a match of yours. Would you consider letting us come for the last one? McGonagall says that she'd be surprised if Gryffindor didn't take the Cup, and I thought we might use it as an excuse to make a Weasley day of it.

Speaking of Weasleys, I'm certain that Ron is going to ask Hermione to marry him sometime this year. And before you roll your eyes (as your father and Bill just did), keep in mind that I know my youngest son. He's been very frugal lately (perhaps saving up for a ring!) and has been exceptionally nice to her (they were over for dinner the other day, and he didn't say one thing about Viktor Krum, even though he's been in the news again after he did the Wonky Faint and caused that poor Italian player that awful injury). George and Angelina are also doing well, though Fred let it slip that they might be moving in together soon.

Victoire misses you. She has two new teeth. I can't believe how quickly time flies. Fleur tells me that her new favorite person is Teddy Lupin, and she's been exerting much effort trying to turn her hair turquoise just like his. Dora tells me that Teddy is not thrilled by the attention; apparently, he has decided that little witches are a waste of time. Frankly, I don't remember my sons going through that stage. They were very excited when you were born because you are a girl (all except George, oddly, who not only wanted a set of triplets, but wanted more brothers because he liked boy names better; your father and I were very happy that he didn't get his wish).

We all miss you. I've been thinking about you a lot lately. I can't help it, I'm your mother, and that's my job. I can't help but think that maybe you're ready to talk to someone about what happened. It doesn't have to be us. We can send you to someone again; I really do think that if you talk about whatever you're thinking and feeling it will help you. I think that you've made some strides in the last year, and letting someone in might help you take even more. I know that when your uncles died in the first war, I found solace in having a stranger just listen.

Let me know what you think, and we'll talk about it over Christmas. Your father and I are counting the days until we see you again.

Love,  
Mum

And because she didn't want to think about it until she was soaring above the ground, Ginny stuffed the letter into Arnold's bag. He happily munched on it while she went to retrieve her Nimbus 2121. Her stomach rolled. _There's no way I'm going to go see some Healer,_ she thought, indignant at the suggestion. It helped carry her down the stairs, out the doors and toward Harry.

He was sitting in the stands, and Ginny had the disconcerting feeling that he was waiting for her.

"Hi," she said, stopping some distance away.

His eyebrows flew up. "Hi," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and standing up. He grabbed his Firebolt and the feeling that he'd been waiting for her to arrive increased.

"I'm sorry I didn't come before," said Ginny after she'd stared at her feet for a while.

He didn't ask her why she hadn't, nor did he tell her that he no longer wanted to fly with her. All he did was nod, and the knot in her belly eased. And without further conversation -- perhaps he saw that she didn't particularly want to talk -- he mounted his broom, kicked off, and shot up into the deepening twilight.

"I won't be long, Arnold," she assured her pygmy puff. He ignored her in favor of chewing the parchment of her mother's letter. Scowling and annoyed all over again, she followed Harry into the sky.

_Why is it so difficult for them to get that I don't want to talk about it_? she asked herself. Pushing the handle down, she went into a steep dive that was more a Seeker move, though it had its applications for a Chaser as well. Her hands were red from the cold within moments, and she wished she'd thought to bring her gloves.

She wished her parents would just leave well enough alone.

For more than an hour, Ginny found solace in the cold air that held a hint of coming snow. But it soon became too brisk; her annoyance with her mother slowly dissipated and she began to think longingly of a hot butterbeer and maybe even a bath in the Room of Requirement (the only place in Hogwarts that offered complete privacy). Her feet touched the ground moments after Harry's; for the first time, she noticed that he had white lines of tension around his mouth.

"My Mum wrote me a letter," Ginny admitted. "It bothered me."

He didn't ask her what it had contained and why it had bothered her. "I'm going to Remus and Dora's for dinner tomorrow night," he said. He didn't have to add that a part of him (a large part, Ginny guessed from his grimace) regretted this. Ginny was a little surprised herself (his hermit status was a legend), but she didn't want to mention it.

"Are you going to fly the day after tomorrow, then?" she asked just before they parted company. Arnold poked his head out of his bag and warbled goodbye to Harry.

"Are you?" he asked. "I mean, I'll be there, regardless, but--"

"I'll be there," Ginny said.

He didn't mention that she'd said that last time they spoke, and Ginny was grateful.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

12 November 2001

Harry scuffed his feet, checked his watch, and adjusted his robes, waiting for seven o'clock to roll around. Waiting to step into the hearth and floo to Remus and Dora's home. To have dinner with them. It seemed entirely too normal, and he wished -- for the millionth time that day -- that he hadn't agreed. He'd much rather be out flying in the air with Ginny. In spite of the past (and Harry was beginning to think it was because of it) being around her was easier than being around anyone else.

He'd realized something yesterday when they'd walked up to the castle together carrying their brooms. Her presence was like a balm to him. She didn't expect things from him; no questions about what had happened passed from her lips. Ginny didn't need to ask if he was all right. It was the strangest thing imaginable that he would have this ease with Ginny, but their boundaries overlapped, and the experiences she'd lived through and he'd witnessed sort of united them. Granted, she might feel exactly the opposite (she'd avoided flying with him for several days, after all), but he hoped she felt the same.

He loosened his collar; it suddenly felt very tight and constricting.

_I wish Dora was a bit more like Ginny,_ Harry thought glumly. He hadn't spoken to her since before he'd come to Hogwarts, and the memories of that last visit were still jarring. Dora Lupin was a great person, but sometimes she pushed too hard. _Why am I doing this again?_ he asked himself, still slightly surprised.

The invitation had come at a weak moment. Harry had still been both shocked and impressed by Ginny's Quidditch skills that he'd been distracted enough to accept before he thought twice about it. He'd woken up quite surprised at himself, and was slightly mollified that Remus had been equally stunned.

_As long as she doesn't mention the shagging,_ Harry thought, repressing a shudder. In typical brash, Dora fashion she had pressed the issue. And while Harry knew he was a normal bloke, and did normal bloke things in the shower while thinking about the parts on girls normally hidden by clothes, the idea of actually having sex with another person did not really appeal to him. The level of intimacy required for that was too high, and he didn't see the need. The random girl parts that marched through his head offered relief. They weren't attached to breathing bodies with demanding mouths.

Harry shook his head and, at a minute before seven, entered the hearth and said, "Lupin Residence." He spun through the grates, catching glimpses of other wizard dwellings, and finally landed in a modest sitting room decorated with wild colors. He only had a second to catch his bearings when something hard hit him in the legs and he went down in a tangle of limbs. A turquoise head was plainly visible.

"Teddy!" Remus rushed into the room, plainly dismayed. "What have we told you about attacking guests?"

"Don't remember," Teddy muttered.

"Sorry, Harry," Remus offered him his hand. Harry took it and stood up. The sight of the little boy actually relieved him; Dora could not be completely off the wall if he was around. Though he was still pretty young... what if they didn't mind what they said in front of him?

"Do you swear in front of Teddy?" Harry asked bluntly.

"Er," Remus looked bemused. "We try not to. He has a habit of repeating everything we say."

"Good," Harry said. "I mean -- I'll try not to."

"Harry Potter," Dora grinned at him, leaning against the door jam. "You get weirder every time we see you." She held out his hand to shake his, and then pulled him into a tight hug. Harry patted her awkwardly on the back, glad to see that her hair was bright pink and not tipped with black. It would have been an ominous sign if she'd been annoyed at the sight of him.

"Hi," said Harry.

"Thanks for coming, Harry," Remus said. He put his arm around his wife and his hand on his son's shoulder. It struck Harry as quite picturesque.

"Is it true you're a crab?" Teddy said, pulling on his bottom lip.

"Erm," said Harry.

"He means a hermit, though crab fits too," Dora said pointedly. She hid a smile behind her hand. "Teddy, what did we tell you about being rude to guests?"

"Same thing we told him about attacking them," Remus said ruefully. It felt surreal that Teddy Lupin was old enough to ask adults blunt and embarrassing questions. In many ways, it didn't seem that it had been almost three and a half years since Voldemort's demise. Occasionally, Harry would wake up, certain he was back in the tent with Ron and Hermione; those were the days he woke up happy.

"I can't believe how big he's gotten," Harry admitted.

"That's what happens in three years, Harry," Dora said tartly.

"Dora," said Remus, shaking his head. "Would you like a glass of wine, Harry?"

"Yes," said Harry, relieved. A bottle was summoned and opened, and Remus poured a generous measure of the alcohol into a goblet. "How have the two of you been?"

"Very well," Dora beamed at him, mood shifting rapidly.

"We're expecting another baby," said Remus. For a moment, his face fell into worried lines, but brightened again. It was sort of disconcerting to watch. It was as though Remus had forgotten for a moment to be happy. But the tidings of new life were, of course, always welcome.

"That's great," Harry said honestly. "That's really great. When are you due?"

They toasted the promise of a new baby. Harry watched Remus out of the corner of his eye, wondering how the old wolf was truly doing with the fear of what might be passed to his child just for being born; would the baby have the illness? He remembered well the ugly scene in the basement kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, when he'd had to refuse his offer of help and goaded him to returning to Dora.

"If you think I'm going to run out on them, think again," Remus said mildly.

Harry suddenly realized how quiet it was. Where was Teddy? He was meant to be the buffer, the security that they would not broach topics Harry had no interest in pursuing. Just then, the turquoise haired little boy ran back into the room, brandishing his father's wand like a sword.

"Teddy! Drop that wand!" Dora said. "Do you want Harry to think you're a little barbarian?"

Other than a few quirks, Harry had to admit that the little boy was very well behaved for a child so young. All through dinner (which was shockingly good; he hadn't figured Dora for an excellent cook), he kept up a lively conversation about his fork, his napkin, and one of his shoes. Harry was content to listen to him, and was both disappointed and slightly nervous when Dora left to give him his bath and put him to bed.

"I can't believe we're doing it all over again," said Remus, shaking his head, as he poured them both a glass of firewhiskey. Harry watched the flaming amber liquid swirl in his cup.

The moment was suddenly fraught with tension. Harry knew what was coming, and waited for it.

"Are you all right?" asked Remus.

Harry had his angry _I'm fine_ ready. It was on the tip of his tongue, and then he remembered laughing about it with Ginny. And for the first time in a long while, he considered the question. He had a job. He spoke to people on a regular basis. Kreacher had stopped planning elaborate dinner parties to which Harry never invited anyone.

He shrugged.

"Seems like an improvement," Remus observed.

Harry downed the alcohol in one gulp; it burned down his throat. Steam came out of his ears, and he opened his eyes to find Remus smiling at him reminiscently. "Your father could never hold the fire in either," he said. "His hair actually ignited the first time we all got drunk together."

"Did you do that often?" Harry asked. "Get drunk, I mean?"

"Pretty often when we were younger," Remus admitted.

Harry had gotten drunk exactly once, a few weeks after Malfoy Manor. It hadn't been a pleasant experience.

Remus regarded him steadily. "I wish they were here," he said. Harry stared down at his empty glass. "I have a feeling that your dad would know exactly what to say to you. And Sirius -- he'd be bitter with you until you found yourself laughing with him. He was tricky that way."

To Harry's horror, he felt a sudden lump in his throat. The quiet grief in Remus' voice made it impossible to get angry with him; Remus had every right to miss them and talk about them. He'd known them better and longer than Harry, who had only had his godfather for a few short years, and had never known his father at all.

Bitterness flowed through his veins. _Because of the prophecy_.

They'd died to get him to the end, to fulfill his destiny at Malfoy Manor. _Malfoy Manor_. The thought choked him. He covered it up with a cough.

Dora did not return for long minutes. Harry suspected she was stalling to allow them more privacy, and had to admit this was unusually tactful for her. For the first time since Voldemort fell, Harry wanted to tell someone, but not Remus. Maybe Sirius, who had been imprisoned in Azkaban for years. He most wanted to tell Ron and Hermione, but that seemed so impossible.

"Thank you for the meal, Remus," Harry said, standing up. "And the company."

Remus did not by word or gesture appear to be disappointed in the fact that Harry was retreating. Perhaps the old wolf had only had one angry lecture in him. "And thanks for... you know, last summer," he said. He hadn't known he was going to say it until he did. Strangely, he meant it. He wouldn't be at Hogwarts, passing himself off as a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Footsteps clattered down the stairs. "The barbarian is asleep," she said brightly. "Are you leaving so soon, Harry?"

"I have things to do in the morning," Harry said evasively. "But -- thanks for having me. It's been very nice."

"Surprised I didn't kill you with my cooking skills?" she grinned at him.

To tell the truth, he hadn't expected her to make a decent meal. She didn't seem the type. "It was the best I've had in years," Harry said honestly.

The two of them exchanged glances. "We'll be sure to tell Molly," said Dora. "She'll be glad to hear you liked it."

HPHPHPHPHPHP

13 November 2001

It sounded like a dozen children had invaded Shell Cottage instead of just two; Teddy was loud all by himself, but Teddy and Victoire together were exceptionally noisy. Bill watched the two little bundles of mischief carefully. Victoire had the tendency to throw off all of her clothes (including her nappy), and the November day was far too cold to be a nudist.

"I'm telling you, he's better than he's been since it happened," said Dora Lupin. She stood beside Fleur, wand at the ready, poised to intervene in case of threats of injury or childish scuffles. "It was a miracle that he even came over, you know, and then he sat in the sitting room and asked Remus a question about his father and Sirius."

Bill was impressed. He hadn't seen Harry in years, of course, but from everything he'd heard, this was highly unusual behavior. _I wonder how Ron will react_, he mused. Ron had been the most affected by Harry's departure from their lives, and Bill wondered if it would hurt that his best mate had chosen to open up to someone else. _Though asking Remus about James Potter couldn't have been _that _huge of a deal,_ he reminded himself.

"Your Mum was in raptures when I told her he enjoyed the meal," continued Dora. "_And_ he didn't run away as soon as she was mentioned like he normally does. I think--"

But Dora was cut off by a particularly loud shriek coming from Teddy. He was on the ground, and Victoire had grabbed hold of his ears. Bill hid a grin; his daughter was certainly feisty. A cloud passed over the weak sun. Ginny had been feisty as well, and she'd been even smaller and daintier than Victoire. He sometimes wondered if all that sass had gone into keeping herself sane because he couldn't imagine such a vital part of her completely disappearing.

Fleur laid a gentle hand on his arm while they watched Dora mediate between the two fighters and propose a truce. "It's hard to think of Harry without wondering what happened," admitted Bill. "A part of me doesn't want to know, you know," he added. He turned his head a little to the right and watched the ocean.

"I theenk we all feel the same way," said Fleur.

Bill didn't answer. He thought it was a little different for him. He had a little girl now; he had a greater understanding of the deep well of grief that his father carried, and also of the fact that it was killing his dad to be so, so--

"What word would you use to describe Ginny's feelings toward Dad?" Bill asked his wife when his mind stuttered over his own thoughts. "Does she hate him? Despise him? Feel betrayed by him?"

Fleur was silent for a long moment. "I do not know," she said finally. "It iz not so easily definable, in French or in English."

Bill watched the waves crash on the rocks. He never, ever wanted Victoire to feel and act toward him the way Ginny acted toward their dad. But he would never say that out loud. "I wish I knew why," he said at last.

There was an unsettled, troubled look on her face. "I'm not sure I want to know."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

16 November 2001

_The dungeons of Hogwarts were dark and smelled of mildew and rotting bodies. Ginny stood in the very center of the corridor, completely paralyzed. The walls whispered to her; she could make out snatches of conversations, heard her name mentioned over and over again, but except for "Ginny, Ginny, Ginny," she couldn't make out another word._

Her stomach rolled and clenched. She stuck her hand out to steady herself, and she shrieked a little, and pulled her hand away. It came away covered with thick liquid. For a moment, she thought it was blood. Then, when she saw the substance that had the consistency of mud, she knew it was worse. Distantly, she heard herself screamWake up! Wake up! _and she knew the nightmare had come back after being dormant for such long stretch of time._

She stared down at her hand and wanted to curl up into a little ball. She wanted Arnold. Where was Arnold?

Pollux Sennet stepped out of the shadows, his fleshy lips curved in a knowing smile. His eyes passed over her body -- she felt a cold draft and she was suddenly naked. She drifted to the floor and he came closer. And suddenly he was on top of her, wet tongue soaking her neck. Ginny squeezed her eyes closed, knowing that any moment now--

"Open your eyes, Ginevra," said her father. She had to obey. Keep your eyes open, Ginevra, _they always said. And they didn't give her a choice. He thrust between her thighs, balding head shining with sweat, eyes staring down at her breasts. His breath was hot in her ear as he moaned his pleasure._

Wake up!__

And then there was bright, blinding light, and he was pulled off her with a squelching sound. Harry's face was lit with rage and disgust. Ginny tried to close her legs and roll over, but her limbs were leaden and she was pinned to the ground. Don't look at me._But it was so bright, she knew he could see everything. He knew everything. He could see it all._

Something slimy slithered across her belly and under her back. Slowly it began to squeeze and Ginny couldn't move. Harry turned his back to her and spread his arms. A flash of green light arced through the air with glacial speed. She tried to scream at him to move, but he didn't. He stood there and it hit, and he fell back on top of her--

Ginny thrashed awake, back arched and heart pounding. Arnold was pulling at her hair, as though he'd sensed her distress and had been trying to wake her. Tears stung her eyes, and she pressed the heels of her hands against her brow to hold them in. There was pressure on her stomach; the sheets had twisted around her, like Nagini had once.

The sunlight that streamed in through the window seemed too bright; it was jarring to wake up to the morning sun. She stopped herself before she could even think about the dream. _It was just a dream, just a dream, just a dream,_ she chanted. _Pollux Sennet was never there. Harry wasn't there for--_

Ginny flopped over and untangled herself from the sheets, and focused on getting ready for the day. _Don't think about it._ She fed Arnold and cuddled him for a little while. _Malfoy Manor was three years, five months, and four days ago. It was just a dream._ Flinging her books into her bag, she slung it over her shoulder and, still holding Arnold, she exited the dorm.

Her first class of the day was Harry's, and she did not even bother going down to the Great Hall for breakfast, but leaned up against the wall in the corridor outside his room. Breathing in and out slowly, she held Arnold in the palm of her hand and forced herself to calm down. And slowly, slowly it began to work.

"Ginny?"

A wave of relief. "Hi, Pro--"

"Don't," he said irritably. "If you call me 'Professor Potter' one more time, I'll -- I'll give you detention."

It was sort of endearing the way he sometimes didn't make sense, and that combined with the relief and the shaky aftermath of a particularly bad nightmare made her chuckle a little. He looked just as surprised as the first time she'd laughed, but he still didn't say anything, for which she was grateful. "All right," she said. "Harry. Hi."

"Were you waiting for me?" he asked, releasing the spell that locked the door.

"Just for class," said Ginny. Her stomach cramped a little and she let her eyes slide away from his. "Are you going to go tonight? Flying?"

He gave her a sharp look, but he allowed her her privacy. "Yeah," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I sort of thought about... you know. Going earlier. Skipping dinner."

She knew he had just made that up on the spot, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

The day dragged on, and by the time her last class (Transfiguration, never her favorite in the first place) finished, she was so eager to escape into the sky that she was practically dancing with it. Gryffindor Tower had never seemed so far away; she raced to it, silently urging the moving stairs to move faster. She threw herself up to the girl's dorm, grabbed her broom and the cage she'd made for Arnold when she knew he'd be too active and impatient to stay in his bag for more than an hour.

It seemed as though the images from her dream were chasing her, and it took her less than ten seconds to nod at Harry (who seemed equally eager to take flight) and get Arnold situated. They kicked off at the same time into a climb so steep and fast that it felt like a free fall. Ginny focused on the wind in her hair and how cold the air was. It was blissful oblivion.

Harry kept up with her for hours. Ginny, cold and frozen to her broom, wondered if he was trying to fly faster than his own demons, or if he only meant to help her with her own. She suspected it was a mixture of both. Once her father's face stopped cropping up behind her eyelids every time she blinked, she began to slow and circle around the pitch in an easy descent. The sky was spangled with stars, and Ginny had no idea what time it was, only that it must be very late.

Her lips twitched.

"What's funny?" Harry asked, voice raspy from disuse. He watched as she freed Arnold and placed the snoring pygmy puff in his bag.

"That it's lucky I'm with a professor," said Ginny. "I've got a feeling that curfew already came and went."

"A few hours ago," said Harry, checking his watch. For the first time, she noticed that he didn't wear her uncle Fabian's watch, the one her mother had given him for his seventeenth birthday. The sight of the utilitarian silver band made her eyes sting. She blinked and looked away. "Are you hungry?" he asked, as they ambled up the path to the castle.

Her stomach gave a loud growl.

He chuckled a little. "I take that as a yes. I should have known; you _are_ a Weasley."

"A healthy appetite comes with the red hair," said Ginny. "Surely dinner is over, though."

He shrugged. "I figured we'd go to the kitchen. Or, if you'd prefer it, I could have Kreacher make us something and we could eat somewhere else."

"The kitchen sounds fine to me," Ginny murmured.

They were silent the rest of the way; Harry led her down the corridor and stopped in front of a painting of fruit. He tickled a pear, and it swung open revealing a large, warm room that smelled like all sorts of delicious food despite the late hour. Ginny inhaled deeply, and narrowed her eyes when she saw Harry hiding a grin. Warmth licked over her, and she felt her lids growing heavy, amazingly enough. After a dream, sleep was generally hard to come by.

The elves brought a plate of warm bread and cheese and hot chocolate, and for long minutes neither one of them spoke.

"I had your mum's cooking," Harry offered.

Ginny dropped her cheese. "You went to the _Burrow_?"

He shook his head. "When I went to Remus and Dora's. She made the meal."

"Probably for the best," said Ginny. "Dora is a very talented Auror, but a cook she is not." Her stomach clenched with sudden nerves. "I'm sure that Mum liked that a lot. They miss you."

She couldn't read the expression on his face. The firelight from the large hearths flickered across his face and shadowed his eyes. The silence swelled and billowed, and she _knew_ they were both thinking of the same thing. Why Harry had never gone home. Her nightmare rushed back at her suddenly. "Do you ever have nightmares?" she blurted out.

He blew out a breath. "Frequently," he admitted carefully.

The tension was thick enough for a Severing Charm. Ginny took another few bites, though she couldn't taste the food all of a sudden. "Bad ones?" It was as though she was looking down at herself, and couldn't stop herself from talking. A part of her wanted to take it back... but a larger part suddenly wanted him to acknowledge what had happened, though she had no idea why.

"Pretty bad, yeah," he said in a low voice, then took a gulp of his hot chocolate as though it was firewhiskey. And despite the fact that she couldn't even see the vivid green of his eyes, she knew he was watching her intently. "But you would know what I dream about, wouldn't you?" He played with the rim of his mug. "And I'm sure that however bad my dreams are, yours are worse."

But Ginny didn't want to talk about her dreams. For reasons unknown to her, she wanted to hear about his. Her fingers trembled, and she blew on her drink, despite the fact that it had cooled long ago.

"Sometimes I dream that I never heard anything," he said. "And I just left without..."

Ginny suspected that he'd given her the best scenario of his nightmares, and she was mostly glad of that. "I felt like Nagini was squeezing me again," she said, not wanting to tell him about Lucius Malfoy's masquerade, nor that Harry always died and his body fell on top of her, and sometimes she had a hard time deciding which was worse. Her heart thumped in her chest.

"I guess I could remind you that you had your revenge on the snake," he said.

"I could say the same thing," she said.


	9. If I Fell

28 November 2001 - 29 November 2001

Over a week had passed since her dream and the almost surreal conversation she'd had with Harry, and the lingering affects of being forcibly reminded of Malfoy Manor had all but faded entirely away. Until the next time.

Ginny stood under the spray of the water, letting it run over her face. It was past nine o'clock in the evening and they'd stayed out flying in the cold. The warmth felt wonderful; she allowed her mind to drift and a haziness settled over her. She barely even heard the door open and her two dorm mates enter the bathroom.

"--can't believe you let him!" Emma Dobbs said, laughing.

Demelza Robins laughed nervously. "Well... it just sort of happened..."

Ginny's face heated up. She had a feeling she knew what they were talking about, and but for the fact that she would have to walk naked in front of them to reach her robes and her wand, she would've tried to escape. _I don't want to hear about this,_ Ginny thought. Her suspicions were confirmed at Emma's next comment.

"How does a bloke's hand accidentally get up your shirt?" she asked sarcastically.

Demelza sighed a little. "It was in the moment, Emma, you wouldn't understand," she said. "We were snogging behind that tapestry on the third floor and he was stroking my back -- and then he moved around to the front like it was completely natural."

To her own surprise, Ginny suddenly found herself listening carefully. Kissing was all right. At least she wasn't about to hear a detailed account of Demelza's first experience with sex. And it would be very hypocritical of her to dislike hearing about kissing and maybe just a step further, because she'd had three dreams about Harry since term had started. Even though they made her feel nervous and jittery, it was a good sort of nervous and jittery.

Her flush deepened, despite the fact that no one could see her.

"Did he try to get you to play with his wand?" Emma asked slyly. Her voice was garbled; she was brushing her teeth.

"Of course not!" Demelza said, giggling nervously. "Jeremy isn't stupid. He knows we're nowhere near ready for that."

One of them turned on a shower. The phrase _nowhere near ready for that_ echoed in Ginny's head, and her stomach cramped almost painfully. _Demelza had been given a choice._ The idea of it washed over her along with the spray of the water. And a very, very small voice inside her head said, _I wasn't._ She tried to push that thought out of her head and instead focus on her Arnold, who was innocent and who needed her, but she couldn't quite do it.

"Jeremy must be a good guy, then," said Emma.

"He really is," Demelza agreed, her voice was muffled over the sound of the water. "He asked if it was all right, you know, so I know he'd never try to push me." Then, wickedly, "I might even have to be the one to push him. Eventually."

_That's how it's supposed to be,_ said the small voice. And then Emma got in the shower as well and Ginny was able to make her escape. She scurried over to her robes and her wand and dressed quickly. The dorm offered privacy and a place to structure her thoughts.

She fed Arnold and put more water into his bowl before she opened her trunk and dug for a nightgown. The house elves had raided the room and taken away their dirty laundry. Her fingers caught on something silkier than normal, and she tugged at it and the gown Fleur had given her flowed out of her trunk. She stared at it for a moment, wondering if she could possibly be comfortable in something so unlike anything else she ever wore.

Once she caught herself actually stroking it, she shoved it back under a pile of sweaters and searched for something more suitable. Yanking the covers back, she said firmly, "Let's go to bed, Arnold."

He scrambled up and plopped himself down on her pillow, giving a little squeak of contentment. Ginny closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, floating down into slumber. One moment she was awake, and the next she was nestled in warm darkness. Someone was holding her. She could feel his breath against her lips, and his hand stroked her back. Ginny surrendered herself to the sensation, and even when the hand on her back moved to her front and slid under her shirt, she didn't move. Harry murmured something and she nodded, and then his hand cupped her breast--

Arnold pounced on her, jolting her out of her dream. She stared at him groggily, blinking in the early morning sun. _Couldn't he have waited a few more minutes?_ Then she felt a bit guilty at the thought. How many times had he known, instinctively, that she was having a nightmare and needed to wake up? _He couldn't have known that I wanted to stay asleep._ But then the grogginess cleared from her head and her face felt like it was on fire.

She rolled over onto her side and pulled a pillow over her head, groaning. _Thank God he has no clue that I dream about him,_ she thought. Kissing had seemed innocent, and before Malfoy Manor she'd had these sorts of dreams, so when they'd started up again Ginny had been both surprised and pleased. It had been like being reacquainted with an old friend. But his hand on her breast... that had never happened before in a dream.

"Damn Demelza and Emma for bringing it up," Ginny said out loud, grumpily, glad that they wouldn't be able to hear her. _Thank you, privacy charms._ "We're very lucky that he can't see into my dreams, aren't we, Arnold?"

The pygmy puff took a flying leap off the bed and landed next to his food bowl. Ginny took this as agreement, and burrowed back in her trunk for fresh knickers and a bra and a clean pair of robes. _I'll just pretend like nothing ever happened,_ she thought to herself. _There's no way he'll find out about the dream._

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

29 November 2001

November was ending, and Harry was beginning to feel that he'd actually become a better teacher in the few short months he'd been at Hogwarts. He glanced around at the seventh years, pride suffusing him, the likes of which he hadn't felt since he'd led the Defense Association. Whether it was his teaching skills or not, they had improved significantly since the beginning of term.

He couldn't help but be especially proud of Ginny. While her true artistry and grace was shown on a broom, her skill with slinging spells and doing complex and subtle bits of magic alike were likewise impressive. Hagrid had also been deeply impressed when Harry had described Ginny's flawless execution of several new hexes Harry had taught them. They'd had tea all together, and while she'd blushed and protested and claimed that it hadn't been all that impressive, Harry knew she'd been pleased.

Furtive whispering caught Harry's attention. Ginny had just left the classroom, and the only two left were Dennis Creevey and Malcolm Bridge.

"How can you like her?" Bridge asked. "She doesn't even talk to anyone."

"She does," Creevey said defensively. Bridge snorted loudly. "All right, all right," Creevey held his hands up. "She's pretty quiet, but--"

"Look, mate," Bridge interrupted. "I know you've got it bad, but she doesn't even know you exist."

Harry hid his smile. Bridge and Creevey reminded Harry of Seamus and Dean, with their constant speculation about girls. Ron at least had been more circumspect; he'd never talked about Hermione because of his advanced paranoia and inability to see what had been right in front of him. He tapped his wand against the edge of his desk and watched his things fly haphazardly into their correct places. Or at least close enough to their correct places to satisfy Harry.

"--can't help it," Creevey was saying. He was not even attempting to pack up his things, but was staring at the door with a hopeful expression. "She's just beautiful."

"Yeah," Bridge agreed. "But she's got a giant 'Do Not Touch Me' sign hanging around her neck."

_They're talking about Ginny_. He should have known immediately; he'd seen Creevey's look of slavish adoration directed at her often enough, but hearing it put bluntly was another matter. He listened carefully.

"She's beautiful. She..." Creevey's voice trailed away.

"I _know_," Bridge said, sounding annoyed, as though he'd heard this several times. "Her hair is like fire," he said in a sappy voice. "Her skin is creamy and the freckles just make her even more perfect." He shook his head, disgusted. "Get a grip, mate. Stop it with the bad poetry."

"But she--"

Harry cleared his throat. While he could see why anyone would think her lovely, he couldn't help but feel that she'd be deeply uncomfortable with the conversation between these two students. He'd already noticed that she went out of the way to downplay her good looks, and he didn't like it that Creevey noticed it to the point of what seemed like obsession. It was his duty as her friend to discourage it.

There was a lot more to Ginny than just a pretty face, and even had Malfoy Manor never happened, Harry was certain he'd object to anyone thinking or implying otherwise. Creevey must have gotten the message, or some of Harry's disapproval had shown through, for he wasted no time in gathering his things and making a quick exit.

Harry found this very satisfying. _He should have been praising her for her spellwork,_he thought. He'd been a bit concerned for her today, though, despite her excellent work. While they hadn't had a conversation about Malfoy Manor or nightmares since the night in the kitchens, she generally stayed after class to either ask him when he was going to fly, or wait for him to ask her to join him.

Not to mention, she usually made eye contact. Today she hadn't. In fact, she'd gone out of her way to avoid his eyes, and he didn't think he was being irrational to be a bit worried. Had she had another nightmare? She had Charms next, he ought to seek her out and ask her if she wanted (needed) to go out earlier and not wait until dark as they usually did.

He lifted his arms over his head and stretched, looking out the window. It was crisp and clear, and if it held, it would be another good day to fly for hours and lose himself in the air.

An hour later, Harry hurried up the corridor toward her class; he'd loitered around waiting for fifty minutes, and still found himself almost late for a chance to rendezvous with her. _I don't remember Charms being so far away,_ he thought darkly. His urgency was further compounded by the fact that just as he rounded the right corner, a group of second-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs spilled out of a classroom and slowed him down. Harry gritted his teeth and spun out of the way to avoid knocking over Stuart Method, and clipped him on the shoulder instead.

His bag fell and spilled out all its contents.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. Method looked highly offended. Harry pulled out his wand and tidied everything up. "All better?" and not waiting for an answer, he hurried along.

He saw her vivid hair first, of course. She stood a little way out of the way, holding Arnold, and leaning up against the wall. His eyes narrowed when he saw who she was talking to. Pollux Sennet, a smarmy, fleshy-lipped Slytherin smirked at her; Harry did not like the look on his face. _Why is Ginny talking to this arse?_

"Ginny!" he called.

She started, as though the sound of his voice had shocked her. Sennet heaved a sigh, pushed himself off the wall, sending a smug look at Harry over his shoulder. _You mustn't hex students because they look at you funny,_ he reminded himself.

"Hi, Professor Potter," she said. Her face was the color of a sunset. Her greeting pushed the unpleasant Slytherin boy out of his head.

"What'd I tell you about calling me that?" Harry asked her.

She glanced around. Some of the second years had stopped to watch. "Well... in front of everyone else?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, yeah," he said. "It's just really strange to hear you call me that when I've known you for a decade." He didn't particularly care what anyone else thought. Besides, McGonagall hadn't said anything to him when she'd called him by name at the Quidditch match.

She shifted her books in her arms. "All right," she said.

Harry was starting to realize that practically trampling her down was not the best idea. "Listen," he said uncomfortably. "I was... d'you want to go flying early? Before dinner?"

A flicker of relief that he didn't quite understand passed across her face. "I -- yes, I'd like that." Harry watched her closely. She didn't have that haunted, painful look that she'd had last week. She mostly just looked embarrassed. _Way to go, Potter._

"Er, I guess I'll see you then," he said. "Around four?"

"Sounds good," said Ginny.

Harry met her just outside the doors to the Great Hall, not wanting to stay inside where the students milled. Sometimes he heard them whispering -- especially when he and Ginny walked together -- and speculating about what had happened three and a half years ago. Considering the fact that he bristled whenever he heard Malfoy Manor mentioned, he guessed it must be a thousand times worse for Ginny.

"Sorry I sort of hunted you down in the corridor earlier," Harry said sheepishly. "I hope I didn't embarrass you too much or -- or--"

She looked surprised. "You didn't embarrass me," she said quickly. Harry eyed her skeptically. She was blushing. A classic sign of embarrassment. Her lips twitched. "I was a little surprised -- Stuart Method was complaining that you knocked him over--"

"--just his bag," said Harry defensively. "And I cleaned it up."

"Regardless, I was a bit surprised that you'd be -- well, most professors wouldn't," she said. Harry got the feeling that she wasn't being entirely truthful, but he didn't want to push the issue.

"When have I ever acted like a normal professor?" he asked, winking at her.

She laughed for the third time. Not a full laugh, or a nervous laugh, or a relived laugh, but a nice little chuckle that made the cold day just a little bit warmer. "I suppose that's true," she said. "But you're getting better, I think."

"The younger students have stopped trying to mutiny," said Harry. "Though I'm complete rubbish with the first and second years. They're just... really twitchy." He grinned, remembering that Ron had said that about the first years when he'd rounded them up for prefect duties, and Hermione had been aghast. "And I think I've scared them a bit by telling them about my first years at Hogwarts."

"You should tell them about the troll," Ginny said, still giggling a little. He didn't want it to end. "And let me watch."

Harry gave her a thoughtful look. "Not a bad idea," he said, pretending to consider it. The Quidditch pitch came into view, and he was strangely disappointed to see it. They didn't do much talking in the air. "Though maybe I should just bring in a real troll. It can be their end-of-term project."

She stopped and gaped at him. "Tell me you're kidding."

He feigned surprise. "Why would I joke? Ron and I managed it just fine in our first year." He waited a few moments, watching as horror and laughter and uncertainty flickered across her face. "C'mon, Gin, you don't really think I'd do that, do you?"

She slanted him a smug look. "Maybe if you were goaded into it by Ron." Harry realized they were standing in the middle of the pitch and had come to a halt. _Time to fly_. Ginny put her gloves on and then passed her broom from hand to hand. "Well... shall we?"

Harry lingered for just a little longer, but the easy conversation seemed to have died, and he mounted his broom. "You lead," he said.

"I always lead," she said, but didn't argue.

They always started at the pitch, but generally they ventured out over the forest or the lake, and sometimes circled the castle itself, dodging gargoyles and battlements and towers. At first, they'd done their own thing, but now Harry kept up with her, allowing her to choose their direction. He was perfectly content to fly behind her, and adjust to her speed and direction, and tonight she seemed to want to fly low to the ground right near the trees.

He watched her as she bent low over her broom and went into a steep dive, robes billowing up, and--

_Crack!_

A tree came out of nowhere and Harry slammed into it and banged his limbs and head on every branch on the way down. He hit the ground and immediately felt pain burn through his foot. It snapped and Harry felt slightly ill looking down at his obviously broken ankle, but it wasn't until his Firebolt crashed down on his head that he gave up and lay back, knowing that Ginny would be along soon enough.

_Hard for her to miss that smooth move,_ he thought darkly.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

29 November 2001

One moment Harry was flying behind her as always, and the next he was gone. Ginny had just gone into a dive, and so didn't see it happen, but she heard him hit the tree with a sickening crunch. Her heart lurched as she heard the sound of his body hitting branches on his way down. _No, no, no._

She jerked her broom in the direction of where he'd fallen, and had to do an unplanned loop to keep herself in the air. "HARRY!" she yelled.

"I'm here." His voice was faint. She spotted him immediately. He was on his back, and his foot was bent in such an awkward angle that she knew it was broken. Her broom hadn't even stopped when she jumped off of it.

"Are you -- is your ankle broken?" she'd been about to ask him if he was all right before she bit her tongue. Reaching out, she lifted the hem of his trousers. _What are you even trying to do?_ she asked herself. _You know nothing about healing!_

"Were you about to ask me if I'm all right?"

Ginny gaped at him. He was smirking at her. He was pale and starting to sweat already from the pain, but he was _smirking_. "No," she lied. "Your ankle is broken," she pointed out. Worry was making her irritable. He could've been killed, and it would've been completely her fault because she was the one who'd been leading the way.

"I think so," Harry agreed.

Ginny clenched her hands to hide her trembling fingers. How was she going to manage this? "I wish I knew how to heal this," she said. "But I think you need Skele-Knit--"

"If that's anything like Skele-Gro, then I don't want any," Harry said darkly.

"Want to walk on a deformed foot for the rest of your life?" Ginny shot back. A part of her felt bad for being a little mean to him while he must be in so much pain, but it was either that or stick her head in the mud.

"No," Harry said meekly after a long pause.

She sat back on her heels, thinking very hard. Trying to get him up to the castle might be a bit of a problem. He couldn't go back up on his broom, and she didn't want to risk a Levitation Charm. Her nerves weren't at their finest, and if she dropped him, she would just put him in even more pain. There really was only one choice.

Finally, heart fluttering, she held out her hand. "C'mon," she said, and she was immensely grateful that her voice was steady. "I'll help you up to the hospital wing."

He paused for a brief moment, perplexed. _I know, I know,_ she wanted to tell him. _I'm going to touch you, but please don't make it into a big deal. I can do this._ But none of those words were needed, for he grabbed her hand, pulled himself up, and slid his arm over her shoulders without saying a word. She steeled herself to feel her skin grow too tight and hurt at the contact, but--

Nothing. Well... her skin tingled, but it was a pleasurable sensation, rather than something that set her teeth on edge.

It was a very long walk. Ginny was grateful that she'd left Arnold in her dorm, not knowing if Harry had wanted to fly until midnight. But thoughts of her pygmy puff drifted away from her and she was acutely aware of every place their bodies touched._Why did this have to happen right after I had that stupid dream_? she asked herself. But just as she'd had a hard time pushing it out of her mind during class (and therefore being completely incapable of meeting his eyes), she couldn't stop thinking about it now.

He stumbled a little, and Ginny reached out for his waist to steady him.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be," she said. _I'm the one who should be sorry._ She enjoyed the warmth of his body next to hers even though he was obviously in pain.

She was both relieved and disappointed when they reached the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey immediately bustled over and started fussing over him. She hung out a bit in the background, but started edging toward the door when she forced the nasty potion down his throat. Fighting the urge to stay, she left.

Ginny was turning the corner away from the hospital wing when she heard Harry's name spoken in a manner that made her suspicious. Had the three second year Gryffindor's not been speaking in hushed, sneaky voices, she wouldn't have slowed down and halted before they saw her. She drifted closer, as silently as she could, and edged over to the shadows. So intent were they on their discussion that Stuart Method, Aisling Powell, and Elizabeth Barnett did not even notice her.

"--but we _still_ don't know," Elizabeth Barnett said stubbornly.

"How much more do you need?" Stuart Method hissed with a tone of great disgust.

"Professor Potter shouldn't have crashed," Aisling said thoughtfully. Ginny's brow furrowed in confusion, and she felt a little throb of concern. "You have to admit that it was weird -- it just happened out of the blue--"

"--and he's supposed to be a great Quidditch player," Stuart whispered triumphantly.

Ginny's eyes widened and she stepped forward. "Do you think someone tampered with his broom?" she asked. All three of them jumped and turned fearful faces to her. Her stomach dropped sickeningly. What if it wasn't really over? What if someone was after him again? A Death Eater, perhaps, who had not been thrown into Azkaban. But why tamper with his broom? And what did--

"No," they chorused together. She rocked back on her heels, even more confused. They stared at her. She stared at them.

"You're certain?" she asked sharply. "I saw the three of you there -- you didn't see anything unusual?" But even as she asked, she realized it was highly improbable. One of them would have noticed had it been hit with a spell. And Harry kept his broom in his quarters; the odds of someone getting in there were slim to none. Her heartbeat slowed.

"Yeah, we saw it," Powell said.

"He just crashed right into the tree," Barnett offered. "He didn't even try to turn. It was like he didn't even see it."

"Don't you think it's a little unusual that he crashed his broom?" Method asked boldly.

Ginny thought about it. It was a bit unusual that he'd crashed; she'd never known him to do that before. He was very skilled in the air, a real natural at it. But she was good too, and she'd crashed loads of times. "Not really," she said honestly. Method and Powell exchanged dubious glances, and Ginny suddenly felt very annoyed. "Listen, Quidditch mishaps happen to the best of us," she said. What did they know of it? She doubted any of them knew what to do on a broom. "If you flew, you'd know that."

"But he's supposedly legendary," Powell said.

Ginny bristled at the snide tone, and an image of Harry laying on the ground with a dazed look on his face and a broken foot flashed before her eyes. He was only human. He crashed his broom and had had a rough start as a professor and had nightmares. What did these children expect from him?

The arrival of McGonagall saved her from having to go off on him. The professor stopped short when she saw Ginny and the trio of Gryffindors. "Are they bothering you?" she asked sharply. And not waiting for a reply, she wagged her finger at them. "What have I told you three? Enough is enough! Go back to your common room," she shooed them away. They looked mutinous, but they obeyed.

"What is going on with them?" Ginny asked.

McGonagall shook her head. "Nothing that I haven't dealt with before," she said. For some inexplicable reason, she was smiling a little. After a moment, however, her face fell into more serious lines. "I saw you on the grounds. What happened?"

Ginny briefly described the flying accident. "He's fine, I think. Madam Pomfrey is patching him up right now."

The professor looked relieved and also a little sheepish. "That is good to hear," she said.

"It could have been a lot worse than it was," said Ginny, stomach knotting a little at the thought. Now that the moment had passed and he was all right, she kept remembering snatches of her dreams; Harry had fallen on top of her after he'd been hit by the Killing Curse, and she'd screamed at him and shook him, not even caring about Voldemort. Seeing Harry hurt had just dragged that (impossible) memory-like dream up to the surface.

McGonagall pursed her lips and surveyed her. "You've been spending quite a lot of time flying with him," she said pointedly. Ginny didn't know if she was supposed to respond to this or not. "And I think it's a very good thing for both of you, but you must know there might be... talk," she continued delicately.

Ginny flushed and looked away. "But -- there isn't -- and--"

"I know, Miss Weasley," McGonagall said, holding up a hand. "I only mention it so you can prepare yourself, just in case." She eyed her thoughtfully. "We normally don't hire professors who are so soon out of Hogwarts, you know. We generally wait ten years, or at least until there is little chance of familiarity between the new professor and the older students."

Wondering where she was going with this, Ginny kept silent.

"This is an especially unique case given his... prior friendship with your family," she added carefully. The professor was silent for a long moment, and Ginny could practically feel the subject of Malfoy Manor approaching. _Don't mention it._ "The other professors and I do not see anything inappropriate," she said, to Ginny's relief. "The both of you seem better for it."

"He's easy to be with," Ginny admitted.

"I can see that," said McGonagall. "But there may be students who say cruel things--"

"I know," Ginny said quickly, thinking of Pollux Sennet, and already wondering when she'd hear about it from him. But it was worth it. There was just something about Harry that helped soothe the jagged edges. "But..." she gestured helplessly.

McGonagall seemed to interpret her gesture correctly, for she nodded, and gave Ginny a rare, full-fledged smile. "I'm glad we've come to this understanding."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

30 November 2001

It was the sunlight that woke him up. _How many times have I woken up in the hospital wing?_ he thought wryly. He remembered the last time; Ron had been lying on the next bed, recovering from a poisoning. _Nice of you to drop in,_ he'd said. He felt a sudden desire to somehow go back in time and relive his years at Hogwarts, before he had fulfilled his destiny, when he could still look his best mate in the eye--

_I'm feeling pretty maudlin if I'm aching to go back to the simpler times when Draco Malfoy was only setting about trying to kill Dumbledore, and not rape and torture--_

In a burst of motion, trying to evade his own thoughts, he flung himself off the bed. And immediately took in a deep, shuddering breath at the pain in his broken ankle. "Shit!" he swore viciously.

"Professor Potter!" Madam Pomfrey came bustling over. She was a short and stout witch, but the look she gave him was just as intimidating as ever. "You're not to put pressure on that foot for at least another half hour! Do you want to undo everything I spent the night doing?"

"No," Harry said meekly. He glanced around the room through his fringe, half-expecting to see Ginny. But no small red-head waited for him. _Why would she?_ he asked himself, surprised that he'd even think she would be there. His hand shook a little as he raised it to his head.

"I had to give you a Floating Draught," she said. She seemed awfully busy again and wouldn't meet Harry's eyes. "You became a bit agitated while you were sleeping." Harry grimaced and slid back onto the bed. He took this to mean that he'd had a nightmare. _At least I don't remember it._ "Your head might be feeling a little vulnerable," she continued. She leaned over him and peeled back his eyelids. "And possibly you're feeling a bit unsettled."

"I'm fine," said Harry.

She gave him a dubious look but mercifully decided not to say anything. "You'll be free to go once the Skele-Knit is done. It's only seven. You've plenty of time to get to your classes."

Harry pressed his hands over his eyes and willed the time to go faster. His skin felt itchy and dirty and he wanted to wash. _Floating Draught indeed,_ he thought. His head felt stuffed full of cotton (as did his mouth, and he resisted the urge to beg for a_Scourgify_ to clean it out) and his limbs felt both numb and shaky; he'd never felt less like he was floating in his life.

"You can go now," Madam Pomfrey said, cutting into his grim thoughts. "I don't want to see you in here again for at least two months, Professor," she admonished him.

Harry allowed a smile. "You haven't still got the bed with my name on it?" he asked, already out of bed and headed to the door.

"Not anymore," she said. "We didn't think you'd be back here and doing dangerous things again."

_Riding my broom is not dangerous,_ he thought, vexed all over again at his stupid accident. Usually his Quidditch injuries involved someone trying to kill him, rogue dementors, or overly-confident arses. And he'd crashed in front of Ginny, of all people. He fumed all the way down to his quarters and into his private bathroom.

Harry stripped off and stepped into the shower, wincing at the shot of pain in his ankle. Madam Pomfrey had knit the bone back together easily enough, but magic could only go so far, and he was still tender from the break. And still completely disoriented by the fact that Ginny had let him lean on her. After he'd fallen -- _how did that even happen?_ -- she'd thrown his arm over her shoulder and led him up to the hospital wing.

Tapping his wand to adjust the temperature of the water, he continued to run his mind over the events of yesterday. He'd completely misjudged a turn and run into a tree of all things, breaking his foot. Then Ginny had landed next to him and -- instead of levitating him or even just helping him back up onto his broom, she had helped him up without hesitation. But he _knew_ that she had an aversion to touching or being touched. He'd seen the way she flinched away from even casual brushes.

_Maybe it's like the thing with Arnold,_ Harry told himself. She'd trusted him with the most precious thing in the world to her for inexplicable reasons, and this was similar. He ducked his head under the spray, resolving to just let the matter go. If Ginny was fine with it, then he didn't want to bring attention to it and possibly frighten her. _But what if she was only pretending to be all right with it for his sake? What if she'd pushed herself too far and it had caused her to have another nightmare?_

Harry, of all people, knew that even the most innocuous of things could spark a memory that caused a sleeping mind to conjure memories best left in dark recesses.

_I'll just watch her and make sure she's all right today in class,_ Harry resolved. And he pushed all thoughts of Ginny out of his head as he soaped himself up.

So used to his morning routine was he that by the time he finished washing, he was already hard. _Mustn't forgo the morning ritual,_ Harry thought wryly. _Not even broken bones and confusion can keep it down for long._ He closed his eyes, already picturing the host of random girl parts that offered relief. They marched past his mind's eye, doing the job the way they always did, and then, just at the crucial moment--

A vivid image of Ginny, the way she'd looked just before he'd hit that damn tree, rose up behind his eyelids, blocking out all other images. Her long hair streamed out behind her as she pressed forward on the broom, the wind lifting her robes to reveal her little bum, curves outlined through her trousers--

He released and fell hard against the tile, heart thumping wildly in the aftermath of shock and excitement, and feeling as though he'd just been run over by the Hogwarts Express. _What the hell?_


	10. Life Goes On

30 November 2001

Last Easter, Ginny had left Arnold upstairs in her room unattended while she ate dinner with the rest of her family. She'd also left the quarter-eaten Easter chocolate the size of a dragon's egg in there with him, foolishly assuming that he'd stay away from it. When she'd finally escaped from her family, she'd found him sitting on the bed, with a remarkably wide range of emotions written clearly on his furry little face: guilt, pleasure, and embarrassment.

When Harry sidled into class that morning, Ginny was forcibly reminded of Arnold that Easter day after he'd eaten far too much chocolate to be good for him. _It's in the eyes,_ she mused. _That's the only way a grown man could look almost exactly like a small, wide-eyed, violet-tinged pygmy puff who has just done something naughty._

After that brief moment of eye contact, he avoided her gaze and busied himself with tidying up around the front of the room (which, judging by the clutter, obviously hadn't been done since he'd arrived), and chatting with two of the Ravenclaws. Ginny toyed with her quill and wondered why he was acting a bit odd.

"Hi, Ginny," Dennis Creevey said, interrupting her thoughts.

"Hi, Dennis," Ginny replied automatically. He always persisted in talking to her which was slightly annoying, but they'd been the only second year students in the Defense Association, and it would be rude to just ignore him.

"Listen," he said earnestly. _He has rather large ears_, Ginny thought. "I was wondering if you--"

"Creevey!" Harry suddenly barked; Ginny was grateful for the interruption. He motioned to the front of the class. "I need someone to help me demonstrate for the class how helpful shielding can be during a dueling situation. Tell me why some people disagree."

Dennis looked startled; it was unlike Harry to single people out, and Ginny found herself just as surprised and curious. "Well, they -- I -- because it's hard to... you know, it's hard to send hexes and stuff at someone if there's a shield in your way."

Harry nodded, and Dennis made his way to the front of the room. "Don't worry," Harry grinned at him. "You can go on the attack, and I'll do the shielding." Ginny watched him closely. And while he stood poised and ready for Dennis' first spell (which didn't appear to be happening any time soon, as the other boy looked a bit confused still), it suddenly struck her that Harry had physically changed in the last few years. Not that she hadn't noticed before, but it had been more of a peripheral awareness.

He was taller and broader in the shoulders. His jaw was more stubborn and dusted slightly with stubble as though he'd not had time this morning to shave. _Did he need to shave when he was only seventeen?_ she wondered. Even the lines of his body seemed cleaner and stronger than she remembered.

Some things were very familiar, though. His hands were exactly the same and his eyes, if more haunted than she remembered, were the vivid green of her memories. Not to mention, the way he snapped at Creevey reminded her of how he'd been during his fifth year.

"I hope everyone is watching this," said Harry. He was almost lazily flicking his wand and none of Dennis' hexes were coming anywhere near him. "I'm going to show you how you can get around a shield you've created and be more offensive during a duel rather than strictly defensive--"

"Does that mean you're going to hex me?" Dennis asked. He sounded more than a little annoyed.

"If you can't dodge it, yeah," said Harry. "Though you should be better at this than most, Creevey. You were in the Defense Association if I remember correctly..."

Needless to say, Harry made quick work of defeating Dennis. Glancing around surreptitiously, Ginny saw that others were watching open-mouthed. It was the first time that Harry had truly displayed his Defense Against the Dark Arts skills; he generally just watched as they all had a go at each other. But he made dodging shields and casting hexes look almost like a dance.

The room had grown quite warm by the time Harry took mercy on Dennis and ended their duel. "That was better than I expected." He turned away and addressed the rest of the class. "Line up," he said gruffly. "I want all of you practicing, that's the only way to get it right. I can only babble at you so much."

Ginny should have been indignant on behalf of her house; she thought Dennis' display had earned a few points for Gryffindor, at least. And she should have been slightly more worried about his oddness. But the image of Arnold kept floating through her mind, and his temper and grouchiness made her want to laugh. It didn't help that sometime during the lesson, Arnold had poked his head out of his bag and started watching Harry intently.

She lingered after class while he tidied up and avoided her glance. He only looked up when Arnold, annoyed at being ignored, launched himself out of his bag and sprinted on his fat little legs straight toward Harry and climbed up his leg.

"What the--" Harry yelped.

Ginny giggled a little as he danced around in shock and his head shot up. "Sorry," she said. "He's a little rambunctious today."

Harry mumbled something, but she couldn't quite hear it, and before she could ask him to repeat himself, he scooped Arnold up in his hand. "Hi there, Arnold," he said. "You know it's not nice to climb up trousers without giving a bloke a warning." He crooked his finger and rubbed the pygmy puff under his chin.

"He came from Fred and George," said Ginny, by way of explanation. Harry didn't say anything, but continued to stroke her pygmy puff almost absently. "They don't have much manners themselves."

He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. When it became pretty obvious that he wasn't going to share whatever was bothering him, Ginny bent over to gather up all her things. He took a deep breath and shuffled around as though he were about to say something, but when she looked over her shoulder at him, he turned quickly away.

"Do you want to fly early today?" she asked carefully.

His hand shot to his already untidy hair and mussed it up even more. "I -- er -- I can't make it today. Not -- I don't know when I can again."

It was like an unexpected blow to the gut. _Don't be so stupid,_ Ginny told herself fiercely. _So he can't fly with you, it isn't a big deal._ She berated herself for getting so attached to flying with him in the first place, even as her eyes stung. "Oh," she forced out. "That's fine. Thanks for letting me know."

He nodded, handed Arnold back to her, and she left, berating herself for getting so stupidly emotional about it. _It's just flying. You don't need to fly with him. You did just fine when you were alone._ But she knew that wasn't true. When she was alone, she mostly flew to escape. But when she was with him, it was different. It was more.

Distracted, she wandered through the day, theories bombarding her. What if he blamed her for the broom accident? It was a compelling reason for all of two minutes; Harry hadn't acted odd at all after the accident. And it hadn't been her fault. He wouldn't be that unfair to blame her. Harry blamed himself whenever he could; it was a part of his nature and the reason why he was so lonely.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

30 November 2001 - 2 December 2001

As soon as Ginny left the classroom, Harry felt guilty and upset with himself. He'd hurt her, and he wanted to run out and tell her that he was just being stupid, but he remained rooted to the spot like a complete moron. Thinking of her while he'd finished was one thing and that was bad enough. But she'd bent over to gather her things, and he could see the hint of her bum through her robes, and he'd hardened again instantly.

Perhaps it was unfair of him, but he couldn't help but blame Dennis Creevey, and it had been all he could do not to be even harder on him. The boy's comments yesterday had been inappropriate, and the more Harry thought about it, the more it irritated him. Yes, she was very lovely. And Harry had obviously noticed; he had eyes, didn't he? But he couldn't help but think how deeply uncomfortable she'd be to attract sexual attention. She didn't even like attracting friendly attention, and it seemed like a betrayal that he, whom she inexplicably trusted, had just eyed her bum and liked it a lot more than he should have.

_I just need a few days to cool off,_ he told himself. _I'll forget what that git Creevey said about her and then I'll be able to go back to being her supportive friend and not a lecher._

Harry pushed those thoughts out of his head, determined to get back to normal as quickly as possible. She'd laughed again today, and that was far more important than anything else. He couldn't help but notice her laughs were coming at a quicker rate...

The day slowly waned and Harry sought the refuge of his quarters after dinner; he was too tired to go flying by himself. And he had a lot of grading to do (he'd ignored the homework assignments his students had turned in for two weeks; that was a bit much, even for him), and he really ought to try to plan his lessons for the rest of the week.

Plus he didn't much feel like flying by himself.

The following day was even worse for several reasons. Harry had avoided his morning routine in the shower for fear that he hadn't quite gotten the image of her out of his mind (he strongly suspected he hadn't, as images of her cropped up in front of his eyes when he least expected it). He'd also done his professor type duties late into the night as he'd felt wide-awake enough to know that he wouldn't get to sleep even if he tried. And he'd obviously missed his lack of daily exercise... not flying had thrown him for a loop.

Harry had fully intended to return to his quarters again, but a restless sort of energy had grabbed hold of him and he'd decided, on a whim, to visit Hagrid. Ignoring the fact that it felt slightly strange to go there without Ginny, he bundled himself up in his warmest cloak and hurried down the slope. Twilight had fallen and halfway down, he lifted his head, wondering if Ginny was out flying, or if she'd skipped out on it as he had.

Fang barked enthusiastically upon his arrival. The old dog -- whose muzzle had turned gray with the years -- clambered a bit stiffly to his feet and attempted to lick every inch of Harry's face that he could.

"Down, Fang!" Harry said, half laughing. "Is Hagrid not feeding you enough?"

"'E gets plenty, don' ye worry," said Hagrid, lumbering around the corner of his hut, carrying what looked like an entire tree (one of the large, old ones in the Forbidden Forest) cut up into firewood. He stopped suddenly, looking around. "Where's Ginny?" he asked.

"Oh," said Harry. "She's... she didn't come tonight."

Hagrid raised his bushy eyebrows at that but didn't comment further. "Git yerself inside, Harry. Winter's comin' quick an' it's cold."

Harry gratefully followed him in, cold enough to want some of Hagrid's homemade cider; considering that it tasted only slightly better than soup of freshwater plimpies (or whatever that had been that Xeno Lovegood had made for him, Ron, and Hermione before he betrayed them to the Death Eaters), that was saying something.

"How're classes goin'?" Hagrid asked, setting a huge mug of cider in front of Harry. He wrapped his hands around the mug and breathed in deeply trying to warm himself and ignore the slightly sour smell all at once.

"Better than they were," admitted Harry. "I've stopped making a complete cake of myself, I think, and my younger students don't run when they see me in the halls anymore."

Hagrid boomed out a laugh and immediately looked guilty. "Sorry, I know I shouldn' laugh, but a few of the young'uns keep askin' me how to fight trolls. Told 'em they should learn that Levitation Charm or summat. That's what you did--"

"Ron did it," Harry said firmly, though he was grinning. "I was the one on the troll's back with my wand jammed up its nose."

Hagrid chortled. But then he turned an annoyingly piercing look on Harry, and Harry regretted bringing up Ron. "Ye two were thick as thieves," he said gruffly. He didn't say anything more, but he didn't need to. Thus far, Hagrid had only dropped these little hints that made Harry uncomfortable. And he really couldn't blame the half-giant for this one. He'd brought it on himself.

It was hard not to mention them or think about them, though. The more time he spent with Ginny, the more he missed Ron and Hermione and all the other Weasleys. There was irony in that, though Harry didn't want to dwell on it. "How've you been?" Harry asked in a blatant attempt to change the subject.

And mercifully, Hagrid allowed it. "Been fine," he said. "Been thinkin' about tryin' to figger out what went wrong with the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Reckon I know how to make 'em--"

"Prettier?" Harry suggested. "Less murderous, perhaps?"

"Nah," Hagrid shook his massive head. "Couldn' get 'em to breed."

Harry, who saw this as a good thing, attempted to keep the horror off of his face. "Er -- well -- that's really... something."

The half giant didn't take issue with his lack of enthusiasm, and Harry was treated to more information about blasting, sucking, and pinching than he ever wanted to know. He could just imagine Ron's mixture of disgust and hilarity, and Hermione's moaning and advice against owning the creatures in the first place, let alone trying to breed them... Blast-Ended Skrewt husbandry could horrify even the staunchest of Gryffindors.

The conversation turned to Grawp after that, and then Harry relayed some of his worst classroom faux pas (all of which Hagrid had known, though he showed great enthusiasm to hearing it again). Harry kept glancing to the side, expecting Ginny to offer a wry observation, and kept having to remind himself that she wasn't there. And every time that happened, he felt a prickle of annoyance with both himself and Creevey.

"Saw Ginny down flyin' this mornin'," Hagrid observed, startling Harry out of his thoughts.

"Er -- you did?"

"Yeah," said Hagrid, intently watching his own hands. Not a good sign. Harry braced himself, though for what, he didn't quite know. "Hope ye aren' fightin'."

_Far from it._ "Not fighting," Harry said. He shrugged, trying to act casual. Hagrid didn't buy it, though he didn't say anything for a long while. The fire crackled in the hearth, and Harry wished he would say something, anything--

"Heard her laugh the other day."

Harry knew exactly which occasion Hagrid was talking about -- it had been the sixth time she'd laughed, and it had been while he'd been grouching about Ben Corner, who insisted on turning every lesson into a deadly adventure. They'd been walking to Hagrid's hut, and it was obvious that the sound had carried to Hagrid's ears. "Yeah," said Harry, not knowing what else to say.

"Think it's a good thing," Hagrid pointed out. "An' it would be a damn shame if she stopped laughin'." His massive hands fiddled with the edge of the table. "An' you seem to make her laugh."

Harry felt a flash of pride which was quickly dampened by discomfort. He didn't think Ginny would appreciate a discussion occurring about her laughter, because it led back to why she didn't laugh very much. He didn't like the idea of people speculating about Malfoy Manor and what had happened there, and he could imagine that it was a hundred times worse for her. In some strange way, her laughter seemed private, and not something to scrutinize otherwise she might get shy and it wouldn't happen again.

"Don' mean nothin' by it," said Hagrid. He'd obviously guessed somewhat of Harry's thoughts.

_I've been incredibly stupid._ The thought struck him like a lightning bolt. He could've been making her laugh instead of avoiding her. So what if he'd accidentally thought of her in the shower? And that he thought she was lovely? She didn't know Legilimency, she didn't have to be uncomfortable with him because he didn't have to tell her. Harry was almost dazed by how thick he'd been.

"What time does she usually go out in the mornings?" Harry asked suddenly.

Hagrid shrugged a large shoulder. "All times, I reckon. Sometimes early, sometimes later."

_And doesn't that just make things so easy?_

Already planning to get to the pitch before dawn, Harry yawned and stretched and offered his goodbyes to Hagrid. He took his time walking back up to Hogwarts, reassuring himself that he could stifle his physical response to her if it occurred again, and focus instead on her dry sense of humor and her strength or anything else about her besides her bum.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

02 December 2001

Dora Lupin breezed through the door at the Burrow bringing a chilly wind, snow, and laughter with her. Molly shook her head, wondering why the woman had decided to Apparate rather than using the perfectly good floo. She turned around to tell her that she ought to be more mindful of her condition--

"Honestly, Dora," the irrepressible metamorphmagus said in a sing song voice. Molly pursed her lips to keep herself from smiling; she'd raised Fred and George. And people like Fred, George, and Dora could smell laughter the way dogs could smell fear. "Don't Apparate when you're pregnant! You could splinch your uterus! Honestly, Molly, you sound just like Remus."

"I didn't even say anything," said Molly, turning around quickly and hid her full-fledged smile behind her hand.

"You didn't have to," she announced. "I've heard it often enough. And I didn't even Apparate myself, I'll have you know. Remus dropped me off before he took the monster home for his nap."

"How is the monster adjusting to the idea of a new baby?"

Molly busied herself with preparing a proper tea for herself and Dora Lupin, who had become a true friend in the course of the war, despite the age difference. The kettle came to a full boil within seconds under her skilled wand, and the tea leaves swirled around and dropped in. The cupboards (with their peeling paint and rattling knobs) flew open and the biscuits flew out and arranged themselves neatly on the plate.

"Show off," Dora said, amused.

Molly glanced at her, and couldn't help but notice that the younger woman was in even higher spirits than usual. "You could just as easily manage the householdy charms if you'd just--"

Dora's head thunked on the table. "Please," she moaned. "You sound like my mum. Remus is perfectly capable of folding his own underpants, and if he wants biscuits in the shape of a sunflower he can do it himself, thank you very much." She straightened up, gestured wildly, and knocked over the salt shaker. "Sorry about that," she murmured. "Anyway," she was beaming, and Molly wondered why. Usually she had a good rant about her mum and the ongoing battle with household charms, and it could last for an hour, and that was without pregnancy hormones. Dora was bouncing back remarkably quickly.

"Ask me your question again," she ordered, practically bouncing in her seat.

"About Teddy?" Molly asked uncertainly. "What does he think of the baby?"

Dora's smile grew even wider (Molly suspected her of using her abilities to make it so; it looked a bit unnatural). "He's pretty upset that he's getting a little sister instead of a brother," she said. "Thinks he's getting another Victoire, and he's mad at her because she accidentally pulled down his trousers in front of Ron."

It took a moment for the information to penetrate. "You're having a girl?" Molly squealed, feeling twenty years younger all of a sudden. New life always affected her thus; even just seeing a young, pregnant woman made her happy. And the idea that the Lupins were having a little girl (Remus seemed to especially want a daughter) gave her a very warm feeling. "Oh, Dora, dear, that's wonderful."

"We're thrilled," she said. "Remus especially. I thought he was about to float to the ceiling when the Healer told us. Thankfully, Teddy's scream of outrage distracted him."

Molly chuckled. Teddy was a little scamp with a large personality; he definitely took after his mother and not just in his metamorphmagus abilities. She could easily imagine the scene in the Healer's office. "George threw a similar fit when we found out about Ginny," she said. She couldn't help but remember that she'd shared that little anecdote with her daughter, who had not replied to that letter, but had only sent a brief note a few days ago. But she firmly pushed the thought of Ginny out of her mind for now. "He was a right terror, you know."

"And he seems to love Ginny well enough now," Dora said easily, leaning back in her chair and sipping her tea. Molly knew that the other woman had guessed where her thoughts had gone, but she didn't say anything of it. "Remus is already discussing names," she said. "He and Mum should join a support group for coming up with stupid names."

"That bad, are they?" Molly chuckled. "The things men think sound nice... Arthur wanted to name Ginny 'Septrella' because she's the seventh child, and his father's name is Septimus."

Dora laughed. "Remus likes Winifred."

Molly shuddered, grinning. "Just set him straight--"

"Oh, I will," Dora interrupted. "I like the name Clara, actually. Or Aislin."

"Both are lovely," Molly assured her. "I'll have to start making her a blanket, you know, so she'll have one like Teddy's."

"That would be lovely, though please no pink," Dora replied. A comfortable little silence fell as Molly began to mentally construct the blanket she would make for the Lupins' baby girl. Purples and soft blues, she thought, and plenty warm for the chilly nights. So immersed was she that she didn't even notice that for Dora, the silence had changed into something darker. She looked up to find Dora out of her chair and touching the Weasley family clock, her face set in pensive lines.

"Her hand has been moving," Molly said quietly. "I have no idea what happened a few days ago, but for almost an hour, her hand was where she was supposed to be: at school."

"That's pretty incredible," said Dora.

"Arthur says that Harry's moved too," Molly told her. She wanted to believe it, but it seemed almost too good to be true. "It was in the morning, the day after Ginny's moved. The thirtieth, I think it was." And the way Arthur had described it was odd as well, and not like how she'd witnessed Ginny's moving. _It was like it jumped or bounced, and then just as quickly slammed back to Malfoy Manor._ "I'm wondering if the charm is just wearing off," she admitted. She hadn't said that out loud, not to Arthur, but she couldn't help but think that it wasn't really happening. To have both of them showing a kind of healing they hadn't in over three years, that seemed almost too extravagant.

"Don't say that," Dora said softly. "Have any of the others been doing odd things? And if the charms for everyone but Harry and Ginny haven't done this in all these years, I think you should think maybe there's a reason for it. And just because it's a good thing, doesn't mean it isn't happening."

Frowning, Molly thought over her words. _Have I become such a pessimist?_ She didn't like this feeling of not even wanting to bother to hope because of the additional pain it had caused in the past. Like when Ginny had clung to Arnold, it had seemed miraculous that she'd taken interest in another living thing. And Molly had thought that Ginny was returning, but the pygmy puff had been a tool to avoid her family. Not that she resented Arnold, not at all. But...

"Have you thought about talking to someone?" Dora asked.

"I just sent her a letter asking if she thought she might do it," Molly admitted. "But she hasn't written back yet."

"I didn't mean Ginny," Dora said gently. "I meant you. You know they offer very inexpensive Healer services for those who fought in the war, and you definitely qualify. They'd love to get their hands on a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Mum says that the Healers all gossip and celebrity watch like a bunch of old ladies."

"That's the thing, isn't it?" said Molly. She fiddled with the tea cozy. "I can't really -- the added pressure... I'm afraid that if I got to a Healer for psychological services, it'll place added pressure on Ginny, and open up all those questions again. The Healers would never keep it a secret. You know how awful the reporters were right after the -- right after it happened. And the idea of hiding my identity and being vague about why I'm "

"But why would you want her to go, then?"

"At least she'd be prepared for it," said Molly, shrugging a little. "It's one thing if all the old rubbish with the _Daily Prophet_ comes up again because of her. It's quite another if I do something that cracks it open. The Burrow is still protected, but she's awfully vulnerable at Hogwarts."

Molly could not, however, deny the fact that the idea was intriguing. She'd quite like to pour out all the thoughts she'd kept bottled up inside her, but it was an extravagance that she could not seem to afford. The ideal would be to have all of them with a Healer, helping to unravel all the hurt. When she closed her eyes, she could almost envision it. Arthur, explaining how much pain it had caused him to be so shunned by his daughter. Ginny, lancing the wound and actually talking about what had happened and that she wanted to make a concerted effort to recover.

"Something to think about, anyway," Dora said.

Molly heaved a sigh and shook her head to clear the cobwebs and cast about for a topic that would not threaten to make her cry. "Tell me... have you thought about how you're going to decorate the nursery?"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

03 December 2001

Three years, five months, and twenty one days after Malfoy Manor, Ginny trudged down to the Quidditch pitch. For the first time, flying felt like a chore, and she almost hadn't come down at all, but the fingers of dawn had stolen over her pillow, waking her up, and she didn't have anything better to do. _Flying is much better at night,_ Ginny grumbled to herself. Arnold responded by making snuffling noises, and Ginny wished she'd stayed in bed and tried to go back to sleep.

All such thoughts flew out of her head once she saw a figure lying in the grass. He was stretched out halfway on his side, one arm flung over his eyes and the other spread out, reaching for the broom beside him. Her stomach fluttered. _How can he possibly be warm enough to sleep_? she pulled her cloak tightly around herself and shivered in sympathy. She hoped he at least thought to use a Cushioning Charm on the hard earth.

Awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, she wondered how to proceed. Why was he here if he didn't want to fly with her anymore? She'd finally reached the conclusion that he was worried about how things looked with a professor and student being alone together. Had he changed his mind? He gave a little snore, and Ginny wondered if he'd fallen asleep here last night, and he hadn't been waiting for her after all.

Curiosity warred with confusion. If he hadn't meant to find her, then he might be annoyed if she did something like wake him up. But it would be incredibly weird if he'd actually slept here the full night...

Arnold ended up making the decision for her. He'd fought himself out of his cocoon of blankets and, upon seeing Harry, scrambled to get out of his bag, warbling his greetings.

"No, Arnold!" Ginny hissed, but the little pygmy puff leaped and landed on Harry's stomach. He was so light that Harry didn't even wake up, and he hopped around experimentally, obviously wondering why he wasn't being lavished with attention. He pranced up Harry's chest and poised himself, staring curiously at Harry's face. "You've heard people snore before," Ginny told him, lips twitching.

Then, deciding that it might be less disorienting for him to wake up to her than to wake up to Arnold, she reached out her hand. Her fingers, however, had a mind of their own, and they brushed through his thick, untidy hair. It was very soft, just as she had suspected it would be, but she really shouldn't be brushing her fingers through his hair when he wasn't awake to tell her to stop. Not that she'd do it when he was awake, anyway. She glanced around guiltily; mercifully, the only witness had been Arnold, who was too busy chewing on Harry's shirt to notice.

"Harry," she said softly, shaking his shoulder a bit. "Harry," she repeated a little louder.

He awoke with a start and sat up swiftly, dislodging Arnold, who squeaked his outrage. "Whazza?" he asked, blinking at her several times.

"Sorry," Ginny said, drawing back.

"Don't apologize," Harry grimaced. "It probably wasn't the best idea to add a Cushioning Charm and a Warming Charm. That was like asking to fall asleep out here..."

"Were you looking for me?" she blurted out.

"Of course," he said, surprised. "I came out when it was still dark, hoping to catch you." He didn't add anything further, but occupied himself with soothing Arnold's ruffled fur. The silence stretched on, and Ginny wished he would just explain himself. "I was being stupid about -- well, it doesn't even matter," he said quietly and quickly. "I want to keep flying with you. I mean, if you still want me to. I know I was being a moron--"

"All right," Ginny interrupted before he could babble on. Her suspicions that he'd run into some of the gossip Professor McGonagall had mentioned were pretty much confirmed. He'd obviously wanted to shield her from it, and then came to his senses. And she didn't want to hear him explain himself for a multitude of reasons.

"Er," he said. He looked quite stunned, as though he'd expected to have to grovel a bit more. "That's -- that's great," he added, sounding extremely relieved.

"You don't have to explain," Ginny told him, flushing when she remembered avoiding him for several days because she'd been on her period. "Really, it isn't necessary. I get enough people harping on about one thing or another..."

He was quiet for a little while. "You amaze me, Gin," he said. "Most people would be... I don't know. Not you."

She felt very warm, and tried to nervously laugh it off. "Tell that to my parents," she said, without really thinking about it. Her mother's desire for her to _talk_ to someone reared its ugly head in her thoughts. She didn't even think of the fact that he hadn't spoken to her parents in years (because of her and what had happened at Malfoy Manor) until the words were already out of her mouth. She stood up abruptly and, turning back to where she'd dropped her broom and Arnold's bag, brushed the dirt off the seat of her trousers.

When she glanced at him, he had a far away look in his eyes. _You shouldn't have mentioned your parents!_ she scolded herself. He made no move to get up, and his eyes were half-closed as though he was still very tired. "Do you want to just go back to bed?" she asked sympathetically. He'd said he'd been waiting a while for her.

"Bed?" he said faintly.

"Yeah," she said. "I don't really like flying in the mornings, and if we're flying together, we can just go tonight, can't we? You're obviously still tired, so maybe you should go back to bed."

"Right," he said, scrubbing his face with his hand. "Right. That's a good idea. Really good. I'm still really tired."

He stood up, gathering his cloak around himself, taking a deep breath when the brisk wind hit him. Ginny couldn't help but feel that the day was much brighter.


	11. Don't Let Me Down

09 December 2001

Harry had expected that he would have a hard time teaching the Slytherin students. After all, he'd generally disliked them while he'd been a student in Gryffindor. Therefore, he'd been quite surprised that not only did he not have any trouble not taking points away from them (indeed, he had to exercise self-control around Dennis Creevey, who continued to be annoyingly persistent with Ginny), but there was a group of fourth year Slytherin boys who made Harry laugh with their caustic senses of humor.

While he didn't care beyond the mild surprise, he was a bit proud of himself; he'd obviously matured if he didn't consider them all to be evil.

There were a few, however, who made Harry's hackles rise, though he could not pinpoint the exact feeling. For example, Hamish Logan had a cruel mouth, and Harry had caught him taunting first year students that went beyond the usual teasing. And Persephone Whitehart had a gang of girls of all houses firmly under her heel; she was merciless to those she deemed too fat, too thin, or too something to spend time with. As a professor, Harry was all too often confronted with the seedy underbelly of students at Hogwarts; evil he may have seen, yes, but he'd been happily oblivious to much of the meanness and pettiness that some of his students were capable of.

And the worst of the lot was Pollux Sennet, who had gradually been drawing Harry's notice more and more, ever since he'd seen him standing much too close to Ginny. He'd also noticed that the Slytherin seventh year watched Ginny at mealtimes and in the halls. Something lurked in his eyes during those moments, and his fleshy lips twisted into a smirk that irritated Harry a great deal.

_I can't take away points from him just because I don't like his looks,_ Harry reminded himself one afternoon several days after he had realized his own stupidity and sought out Ginny on the Quidditch Pitch. It was before class, and Sennet lounged in his chair, lazily flicking his wand and changing the color of his neighbor's scarf with ever motion. Red, blue, purple, orange.

"Stop that," Harry said sharply.

Sennet gave him an insolent look. "Yes, sir," he said, putting his wand away. Harry wished that he'd argued or snapped back it him, just so he could take points away. Though the Hufflepuff girl beside him looked uncomfortable and avoided even looking at Sennet, and Harry got the impression that she wished that Sennet had sat somewhere else, there was nothing he could really do that would be fair. Technically, the students were allowed to practice harmless magic like that on each other.

Still. Harry kept an eye on him during the lesson. It distracted him from thinking about Ginny, which he wasn't sure was a good thing or a bad thing. She hadn't flown with him the night before, citing illness; when he'd seen her in class, she'd looked pale, and he hoped she wasn't feeling too poorly.

Two hours later, he and Ginny walked together out the doors, brooms slung over shoulders, and all thoughts of Pollux Sennet had been driven out of his head. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he said happily. A blast of cold wind hit them and Harry hunched his shoulders. _Flying is going to be pretty wild tonight,_ he observed. He might not have even bothered under normal circumstances, but he didn't want Ginny to think he'd changed his mind again about flying with her.

She shivered a little and pulled her cloak closer. "I am too," she said in a muffled voice. A few snowflakes began to fall. Harry watched them swirl around her head; they were easy to see against her bright hair.

"What was wrong?" Harry asked.

"Oh," she said. She hesitated for a long moment. "I just had a stomachache."

"Those are the worst," Harry agreed.

For some inexplicable reason, she snorted. _Does that count as a laugh?_Harry asked himself. _If it does, that's number nine..._ He was distracted enough by his count that he failed to realize that he didn't get the joke until the moment had passed, and asking now would just be absurd.

By the time they reached the Quidditch pitch, it was fully dark and the snow was falling in earnest. It had gathered on her shoulders, even, and Harry felt a pang of regret when it hit him that it just wouldn't be smart to fly in this weather. "I don't think--" he began regretfully.

"We really shouldn't--" she said at the same time.

He grimaced. "It could get pretty wild..."

And then she grinned at him slyly, and he braced himself for a joke at his own expense. He knew what that look signaled, he remembered it clearly from the time before Malfoy Manor, though he'd generally seen it aimed at someone else. "And we don't want you to get into another accident... you're still learning to fly, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Harry said dryly. He hefted his Firebolt. "I really shouldn't be riding on this thing, you know--"

"--I was going to suggest a training broom," Ginny said kindly. Her brown eyes sparkled with laughter, and Harry didn't mind that she was laughing at him. Though she might not find the real reason why he'd fallen off his broom (he'd been distracted by the sight of her little bum) quite so funny.

Harry reached out and brushed the snow off her shoulders, not even bothering to question why he'd wanted to touch her. It was a futile gesture, after all. The snow still came down thick enough that it was sort of pointless. But he brushed both shoulders off and let his hands linger. It was the first time he'd initiated physical contact between them; she didn't shy away, nor did she stop smiling, though he thought the quality of it might have changed.

"What do you want to do instead?" he heard himself ask, after he had removed his hands from her shoulders.

"What do you mean?"

"Instead of flying," he said as they began to walk back up the hill. "I mean... do you want to play some Exploding Snap or something?"

"Of course," she said immediately. To his delight, the teasing note was back in her voice. "Though I think you might've forgotten how good I am. Are you going to be upset when I beat you?"

"Only if you don't cry when _I_ beat _you_," Harry told her, even though he wasn't particularly skilled at the game.

"I'll try to restrain myself," she replied. Her arm brushed against his. "I know how much you hate crying girls."

"What?" Harry said blankly. _Where did that--?_

"Cho Chang?" she said. "Have you forgotten already? You complained often enough to Ron and Hermione that she was a human watering pot. That seemed to really put you off her."

Harry laughed, though more at the smug expression on her face than anything. "I forgot about that," he admitted. He hadn't thought about Cho Chang in years, and it struck him as funny that Ginny would mention her. "What an ill-advised relationship."

"Yeah, well, no one wanted to be the one to tell you that," said Ginny. "Ron hated her, and you don't even want to know what the twins thought."

Despite the cold and wind, Harry found that he was suddenly very warm. It was so nice to remember that he had more history with her than just Malfoy Manor. So much was colored by it, but this little memory of Cho Chang and the fact that Ginny knew about it loosened his shoulders.

They'd just reached the doors when a thought struck him. "I don't have any cards... do you?" Harry asked sheepishly.

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "I don't either."

He thought quickly. "No matter," he said firmly. "I'll get Kreacher to go get some, don't worry. You go get Arnold while I go get Kreacher some money -- wait, where are we going to play?"

Ginny looked around, as though expecting an answer to drop out of the sky. "How about the Great Hall?" she said. "Dinner is over, it won't be crowded."

"All right," Harry nodded, already turning to head back to his quarters. "Meet you there in ten minutes?"

She was already waiting for him at the far end of the nearly empty Gryffindor table when he arrived out of breath. He threw himself down into the seat across from her and threw the brand new cards down on the table in front of her. "Sorry," he said. "Kreacher was acting like my mum again, wanting to know why I needed them, and who I was playing with." Harry rolled his eyes, and Ginny laughed for the tenth time since Malfoy Manor.

Later that night, Harry decided that it had been a long while since he'd had that good a time. Ginny had ended up beating him after all. She'd won five games while he'd only beat her twice, and she'd laughed three more times. The shadow of Malfoy Manor, though still present (it always was, how could it not be?), was less intrusive than normal.

Not to mention that the guilt over thinking about her in intimate situations (he'd thought of her twice more while in the shower) had all but disappeared. He'd found a happy medium. He hadn't liked just replacing her with the random girl parts, it had seemed disrespectful. But he'd found a solution, and the tension he'd felt around her had found an outlet that not only made it easier to be around her without embarrassing himself, but made things much more enjoyable, especially as he enjoyed envisioning new scenarios.

Harry found himself hoping, as he slipped into sleep, that it would be storming again tomorrow.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

10 December 2001

Minerva McGonagall was quite irritated with two of her fellow staff. _I ought to have known where this was going when he never showed up to the all staff meeting,_ she thought.

Though, to be fair, had it been a more usual situation, Minerva would have agreed that the friendship developing between Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley was bordering on inappropriate. And Professor Vector and Professor Delaunay (who had replaced poor Charity Burbage as the Muggle Studies professor) were merely expressing concerns rather than condemning them. They had, however, noticed the games of Exploding Snap in the Great Hall, and considering the fact that neither one of them generally spent time with other people, seeing them together and having a good time had stuck out.

"I told ye," Hagrid said for the fifth time. "They're not doin' anythin' wrong."

"It's inappropriate," Professor Delaunay said stubbornly, squaring his jaw firmly. "It's against the rules--"

"Actually," said Minerva, "no rule exists that restricts how much time a professor and student spends together. Otherwise we'd never be able to give them detention."

"He has her in detention, then?" Delaunay said dryly. "Was that what that was?"

"Of course not," Minerva replied.

"There is an unspoken rule--"

"We can't hold them to an unspoken rule," Filius murmured. He'd been remarkably silent through the discussion, and Minerva didn't know what he thought of the situation. They lapsed into silence, until--

"If I might add something?"

All of the professors looked around as though Albus Dumbledore had returned to life and was ready to offer his quiet, authoritative counsel once more. Minerva in particular had difficulty in accepting that the voice came from a portrait rather than a living, breathing person. A person who had been the greatest wizard in the last one hundred years; she would never admit it to Filius, of course, but she had trouble remembering that Albus had fallen from the Astronomy Tower at the hands of a supposed traitor.

_Not,_ she told herself firmly, _that my mental faculties are flagging._ It was simply due to the fact that he had been headmaster for so many years, and such a stellar example of humble leadership.

"By all means," Filius said in his small voice.

The portrait was silent for a time, obviously marshaling his thoughts. As much as a portrait could have thoughts, anyway, though Minerva suspected that even an oil and canvas version of Dumbledore was smarter than most flesh and blood people. _And it's not as though we don't all agree,_ she reminded herself. But she couldn't help but notice that Professor Delaunay and Professor Vector -- who had never had Harry in a classroom, and therefore knew him the least -- were more mindful of the proprieties.

"I believe that whatever led to the downfall of Lord Voldemort came at a very high price," the portrait said softly.

"And none of us believe otherwise," Professor Delaunay said immediately. "But he's a professor and--"

Minerva cut her off. "They've known each other for years," she said firmly. "There's a reason why we don't usually hire those less than seven years outside of school. It's unfair to assume that he be completely formal with everyone he knew when he was a student here."

Filius glanced at the portrait. "You wished to say something, Albus?" he asked cordially.

"I believe Harry has shown extraordinary bravery and fortitude," Dumbledore said delicately.

"No one is saying he hasn't," Delaunay said earnestly.

"We just feel it might be viewed as inappropriate for a professor to spend so much time with a female student," Vector pointed out. "The past doesn't--"

Minerva scoffed. "She was there the night Voldemort was defeated; I imagine the past is extremely relevant in this case." _Honestly, Vector is an intelligent woman, but she should stick to Arithmancy and not matters that did not involve turning the universe into something quantifiable._

"I agree with Minerva," the portrait said. The figure steepled his hands together and pierced them with its blue gaze. "It is my theory -- due to the fact that Harry never spoke to Severus Snape"--Minerva exchanged a dubious glance with Hagrid at the mention of the former potions master. It still amazed her that he'd been an ally--"before Voldemort fell -- that what happened that night was terrible indeed."

Minerva froze as a wave of curiosity broke over her. All of them knew that the portrait knew more about the _how_ of Voldemort's defeat. Indeed, it was not a secret that tears had slid down the oil and canvas face when it had heard the news. But it had remained just as tight-lipped as Harry and Ginny, and after these several years, no one knew exactly what had happened.

It drove the press wild.

All of the living, breathing professors exchanged glances and no one spoke. Anticipation of having questions answered crackled, and Minerva continued to remain as still as she could, as if the portrait would not continue if she so much as moved her foot.

But it ignored their unspoken plea for more information. It did not elucidate what Severus Snape had known and why it mattered that he had not passed on this knowledge to Harry before he had rid the world of the greatest evil in a hundred years. "I think that denying Harry -- and Miss Weasley -- whatever solace they can find is something the Ministry of Magic under the guidance of Cornelius Fudge would do."

"I think we ought to show a little gratitude," Minerva said immediately. The portrait had backed up her point. Perhaps she was betraying her soft spot for both of them, but they both seemed so much happier that it would be cruel to try to halt the renewing of their friendship.

Delaunay and Vector, who had never been close to either Harry or Ginny, or even had them in a class, looked thoughtful and slightly repentant. _As they should_, Minerva thought. Harry had always had too much placed on his shoulders. And Ginny... they both deserved a break.

She glanced over at Dumbledore's portrait. It was looking back at her, and Minerva wished it was flesh and blood. This conversation brought her back years to another conversation about the same young man, who had taken it upon himself (though Hermione and Ron had somewhat to do with it, she assumed) to lead a subversive group. Dumbledore -- the real one -- had privately been quite proud of him, despite the fact he was breaking the rules. And on one occasion, after Umbridge had attempted to kick Sybill Trelawney out of the castle, he'd even expressed the desire to join it himself.

Some things were more important than rules.

"I agree with Minerva and Dumbledore -- and Hagrid," Filius said suddenly. "I'm going to allow it. No harm is being done, only good. Besides, she's an entire year older than most normal seventh years. And... I must admit to some surprise at them striking up a friendship. But I see this as a positive, not a negative."

Hagrid surreptitiously gave her the thumbs-up sign, and the portrait winked. Minerva smiled, satisfied.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

14 December - 18 December

The storm cleared after another few days, and Ginny found herself actually disappointed that flying was an option again. Playing Exploding Snap with Harry had been fun, and talking to him -- despite the fact that her throat had closed up several times when they skirted the topic of Malfoy Manor -- had come so much easier than with other people that Ginny wanted to just keep talking.

Though as she washed and dressed three years, six months, and one day after Malfoy Manor, she was fervently grateful that he couldn't read her mind. She'd woken up thinking about him, and she'd let her mind recreate the moment when he'd brushed the snow off her shoulders. He had perfect hands, and it had made her skin tingle when he'd touched her.

But in her half-waking fantasies, he let his touch linger just a little longer, staring into her eyes, and then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. Whenever that image ran through her head, her stomach swooped, making her want to think it through again. She even tried out several different locations for this kiss to happen: his classroom (after class, of course), his office, and even behind that popular tapestry on the sixth floor.

She thought about how lucky she was that what went on in her head was not displayed for the world to see (Harry in particular) in flashing lights like the signs in front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Ginny carried these thoughts with her (certain that she was both blushing and smiling for no apparent reason) to breakfast along with Arnold and her book bag. _Just stop thinking about it,_ she ordered herself.

Upon entering the Great Hall, she immediately scanned the head table for Harry. He wasn't there, though he rarely made his way to breakfast. He liked to have a lie-in...

A vivid image of him rose up in her mind. His face was in repose and body was just as relaxed as it had been when she'd come across him sleeping. Except he was in a bed--

"Are you all right?" Emma Dobbs asked, concerned.

"I'm fine," Ginny said. For once, she was too distracted to get angry at the question. _Snap out of it, Ginny!_

Emma looked uncertain. "Well," she said. "There's an owl waiting for you."

Ginny looked around. Sure enough, a small owl carrying a roll of parchment nearly as large as he was hopped excitedly from foot to foot. She smiled fondly at it. "Hi, Pigwidgeon," she said. He fluttered his wings excited and hooted while Arnold skittered down from Ginny's shoulder to the table so they could give each other a proper greeting. Fully puffed, Arnold was larger than the tiny owl.

She recognized Hermione's writing at once.

_Dear Ginny,_

Hi, how are you? I can't believe how swiftly these last few months have gone by. Not that we haven't missed you, of course, but I've been keeping very busy with work. Things on the house-elf front look good; I've managed to convince several members of the Wizengamot that forcing elves to work for free is indeed slave labor. We've formed a small committee and I'm preparing a speech that I'm hoping will help sway others to realize just how wrong enslaving an entire species truly is. You might be interested to know that I've found inspiration from Muggle speeches, particularly those written in the early 1800s, when humans were enslaved based on color of skin.

Ginny chuckled a little. Only Hermione would--

"Ginny, you laughed!" Demelza Robins leaned across Jeremy Finch, eyes round with shock. "What's so funny? Was it the letter?"

"I haven't heard you laugh since you -- you left," Emma Dobbs stammered.

All of the good feeling disappeared as swiftly as though it had been sucked out of the room. They were all smiling at her as though she was Pigwidgeon or Arnold and had done a particularly clever trick. Discomfort pressed down on her, and irritation was a physical sensation undulating across her skin.

"It wasn't anything," she said coldly. And even though she'd only had two bites of her eggs, she got up and left, Arnold protesting leaving his best friend loudly. As she left, the back of her neck prickle and she was certain that weighing, considering, judging eyes were staring at her.

It took almost fifteen minutes in the girls' loo (and brushing out a fully puffed Arnold's fur) for her to convince herself that not everyone had been staring at her. Just because Malfoy Manor had risen so swiftly in her thoughts until it was a tangible presence pressing on her didn't mean that everyone else had felt the same. _But Emma knew. She mentioned it. They all think it's special that you laughed because they've got a guess about what happened there, and they were thinking about it._

Ginny pushed these thoughts away as best she could, but she felt stupid and shaky still by the time she arrived at Harry's class.

It wasn't until the next day that she remembered Hermione's letter and that she'd never finished reading it.

Ginny sat in the library before dinner. Ostensibly, she was working on her Charms essay due at the end of fall term. But the words had run dry, and she was watching a sixth year Hufflepuff girl make a complete cake of herself in front of a rowdy bunch of Ravenclaw boys. She was flirting outrageously with all of them, and giving them all stupid, simmering looks.

_If I ever act that stupid around Harry, I'm going to exile myself from Britain,_she promised herself darkly. _And give up magic._

For some reason this sparked her memory -- Hermione had mentioned Muggles and how it helped her with her speech preparations -- and she grimaced. Digging through her book bag, she pulled out the parchment.

The first thing that tipped her off to the fact that she may not like the rest of what Hermione had written was the handwriting. The disparity between the the handwriting in the first paragraph as opposed to the later was obvious even at a glance. When Hermione wrote quickly and without much thought, it was loopy and even. But when she had to carefully consider her words, blotches of ink and crossings-out dotted the page.

Ginny glanced around, making sure she didn't have an audience ready to applaud or offer condolences at her reaction, and bent her head to read.

Ten minutes later, she was pounding on the door to Harry's office. _He'd better be here. Be here, Harry, be here._

The door swung open and she marched in, so angry that it barely registered that Harry's office was such a mess that it looked as though a hurricane had ripped through it. "They're writing a book," she hissed.

"What?" he said blankly. He stood next to the door, just staring at her.

"They're writing a book," she repeated. _About Malfoy Manor and everything else about you and Voldemort... and me,_ she wanted to clarify. But her throat had closed up before she could get the words out. This infuriated her even more, and she thrust Hermione's letter at him. He took it, still looking confused.

A flicker of a smile crossed his face at her initial words, and Ginny watched carefully as any amusement vanished and his expression grew darker and darker until he looked exactly how she felt. Furious and a little bit scared. He looked up and their eyes met, and Ginny felt herself relax just a little once she realized he understood how she felt without her having to say it.

He didn't say a word, but dropped his eyes down to the letter and read it again. "Dobby?" he said, as though he couldn't quite believe it.

Ginny nodded, even though he wasn't looking at her. Apparently, Dobby, who had worshiped Harry for years, had decided to tell everything, though Hermione had mentioned she and Ron were going to investigate how the hell this had happened. Ginny couldn't imagine the house-elf betraying Harry like that, but the part of her that was unable to believe the best told her it had happened.

"I can't believe she didn't say who is writing it," Harry murmured. "She would've said if it was Rita Skeeter, right?"

"I think so," Ginny said.

Harry set the parchment aside and cleared a space in a pile of papers and sat down on the edge of his desk. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, looking quite old all of a sudden. The safe topic -- that of the author of the future book -- had been exhausted, and anything else would bring them back three years, six months, and two days.

"It's supposed to be published in May," said Harry. "That's a long time from now. Ginny... I'm not going to let this get out." He looked her straight in the eye for long moments. Ginny didn't look away even though she was quivering on the inside. Thoughts of Malfoy Manor hung in the air between them like a noxious cloud.

"I really, _really_ don't want anything about that place to be published, I don't want anyone to know. And Dobby was there, he knows a lot--"

"I know, Gin," Harry said earnestly. "Trust me, I don't want -- I'd rather it stay the way it is. And I'm going to--"

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, interrupting him. "But I don't -- I want to"--to her annoyance her voice suddenly stopped working, and she huffed in frustration. Harry waited patiently, despite the fact that she'd interrupted him, and she relaxed a little. "I want to help you stop it."

"All right," he said immediately, shrugging as if it were no big deal. Relief swept over her. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet. Probably just threaten... maybe a few memory charms," he looked thoughtful while plotting the downfall of the mysterious author.

"I'll -- I'll find out who it is from Hermione," Ginny told him, despite the fact that she'd rather stick large needles in her eyes rather than mention the book. But she had a feeling that Harry would end up doing things the hard way to avoid communication with her, and she was in the position to do so. A part of her was amazed that he'd accepted her request so readily, though another part was glad he'd treated her like an equal.

His brow furrowed and he looked down at the parchment again. "I wish people would just... let things alone," he admitted. "It's been almost three and a half years--"

"It's been over three and a half years," Ginny corrected him automatically. "It's been three years, six months, and two days." She wished immediately that she could take the words back. He gave her a stricken look, and she was reminded of the time her mother found out she'd kept a count of how long it had been. At that point, she'd still counted in days. This quirk of hers was particularly painful for others to hear, she knew, and Harry was no exception.

After a moment, however, he rallied strongly. "Right," he said. "Three years, six months, and two days later, and people still haven't got a fucking clue."

Ginny watched Arnold for a moment. It was hard to tell as he looked like a ball of fluff that snored at the moment, but she thought he might be lying with his little feet up over his head. "I cursed a reporter once," she admitted, still watching Arnold. His fur rippled with every breath. "It had only been about six months after -- and I was so sick and tired of those arses trying to get to me to answer their questions that I pulled out my wand -- I was in the air, flying -- and cursed him."

"What kind of curse?"

She gave him a fleeting glance. "It made his bowels loosen. A lot, because I was so angry, and he actually had to spend a week in St. Mungo's."

He looked deeply impressed, but then a little confused. "How come I never heard about that? Wouldn't it have been reported in the paper?"

"Hermione helped with that," Ginny told him. "I went and got her once I realized he couldn't get up and walk on his own. She and Ron leveled a memory charm on him and then Hermione confounded him, making him think that it was a good idea to just stay away from me."

"Good for her," Harry murmured.

"Ron reckons that he shits himself whenever he thinks of me," Ginny confessed, though she held back the part that confirmed it. The twins had come across him last year and had tested the theory. As soon as they mentioned her name, he ran for the loo. But she didn't want to sound like a braggart.

"I should hire you as my bodyguard," he said. "Or get you to teach me curses like that. An entire week?"

Ginny nodded. "The _Daily Prophet_ suspected something had happened -- I'm sure they knew where he was and what he was trying to do -- but they could never prove it. But ever since then, they've been a lot less intrusive."

"Until now," Harry muttered.

"Maybe I should've tried for two weeks," she said. They lapsed into silence, and Ginny wondered how he'd managed to avoid being in the press. Other than a very few articles over the years when he actually went out in public, the press on him was largely speculative.

"Do you want to go fly?" he asked suddenly.

"_Yes_," she said fervently.

It helped clear her head, as it always did, though some of the darkness brought to the surface by the threat of a book that would likely ruin the fragile peace that had been years in the making, as that night she had another nightmare. It was doubly worse because it started out as one of her kissing dreams. Harry's mouth had been on her neck, and his hand cupped her breast through her bra, when there was a flash of green light and they both toppled over, his dead body lying over hers, while her naked father watched in the background.

The next day, Harry flew with her again for hours. _Why do I keep dreaming that you've been hit by the Killing Curse and you're dead?_ she wanted to ask him, though whenever she seriously considered doing so, she was hit with a wave of panic. She knew why images of her father haunted her -- Lucius Malfoy had seen to that with his masquerade. _It's impossible, though,_ she reminded herself. _He couldn't have._ But even though her memories of that night were jumbled, she couldn't help but think maybe it had happened after all.

Three years, six months, and four days after Malfoy Manor, Harry approached her after class, looking a mixture of sheepish, annoyed, and disappointed. "I can't go today," he told her. Now that they were closer together instead of on opposite sides of the classroom, she could tell he looked quite haggard.

"Are you ill?" she asked, concerned. Arnold warbled in a way that sounded concerned to her. Harry reached out and stroked him, much to the pygmy puff's delight.

"No," he replied, raking his other hand through his hair and glancing around at Dennis Creevey, who had taken up the irritating habit of attempting to walk with her. "I'm swamped with work, actually," he admitted in a low voice. "I've left everything until the last minute, and everything is a mess... I can't even see my desk."

"Why not use a Filing Charm?" Ginny asked, curious. He made it sound as though he was being forced to do everything by hand. Arnold escaped his bag and sprinted on his little legs toward Harry. "No, Arnold," she told him. "You're not to do that." As soon as she got him back in his bag, he ran for it again. And then a third time.

"Filing Charm?" Harry repeated, eyes widening. "There's actually a Filing Charm?"

Ginny laughed. A small part of her felt slightly guilty, but there was something in his eyes that reminded her of the time when she'd first completely untangled Arnold's fur and the pygmy puff had looked at her with shock mixed with gratitude. And a lot of the lingering tension in her shoulders from her nightmare faded. "Yes, there's a charm for that," she told him. "Harry, didn't you prepare at all for this position?"

"No," he said guiltily, though he still looked as though she'd handed him a rather large gift -- a new broom, or perhaps a house. "Do you think you could show me? Right now? I mean... you might be a little late, but I can write you a note and--"

"All right," said Ginny. Arnold chose that moment to make another attempt to get to Harry and she gave up. "Will you hold him?" she asked, exasperated. "I don't think he's going to give up."

Harry picked up Arnold immediately. "We'd better go, then, I don't want you to be too late for your next class." He held open the door for her, and then asked, "Where'd you learn this charm, anyway?"

"From Ron, actually," Ginny told him. "I know, surprising, right? And Hermione didn't even teach him."

"Do people like Hermione even need to file? Or does stuff like that happen naturally for them?" Harry asked. He'd attempted to make his voice cheerful, she knew, but she could tell that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. _He must miss them as much as they miss him,_ Ginny thought. She wished she could invite him to the Burrow for Christmas, but knew he wouldn't accept, and the question would just annoy him. She didn't want that.

His office looked, if anything, even untidier than the last time she had seen it. Several small piles sat on the floor and the extra chair and the window sill where he had attempted to organize some of it. _No wonder why he looked so hopeless,_ Ginny thought, hands on her hips. "The charm is a bit tricky," she told him. "Do you want me to do it for you?"

Harry looked around and stared dubiously at a pile of paper airplanes. "I really should learn how to do it myself," he said finally, as if the words caused him some pain. Ginny hid a grin.

She drew her wand, and he followed suit, pulling the Elder Wand out of his pocket. "It's the wand motion that's tough," she informed him. "It's sort of a corkscrew flick with a chop at the end."

He stared at her blankly. "I'm not sure I can even visualize that," he said finally.

"Okay," she said. "I'll show you a few times, but I won't say the spell..."

Ginny had to admit that even though Harry made an honest effort, the first five times he tried the charm, the papers only moved about feebly. "Here," she said. And she moved to stand very close to him and placed her hand over his. "Like this," she said, letting his wand arm get a feel for the correct motion. She did it several times. "See?" she said, looking up.

Harry was staring at her with quite an intense look on his face, and the air around Ginny immediately heated and thickened. Her heart pumped faster and she felt a throb in her lower belly. It was as if one of her dreams had come into reality--

_Stop it, Ginny!_ a voice in her head screamed. Her face felt like it was on fire, and she turned away quickly to stare at the Elder Wand. The feeling of not being able to breathe persisted, and she focused all her attention on taking slow, even breaths. It didn't help that he shifted a bit closer to her and the warmth of his body radiated against her left side. They were almost touching.

Ginny dropped his hand. "You try it," she forced herself to say. "It isn't that hard, I promise. You've got the Elder Wand!" she added bracingly.

"It doesn't matter what kind of wand you have if you don't know how to use it," he told her after a brief hesitation.

She sucked in a breath at the double entendre -- though she was certain he had no idea what he'd actually said. He had the Elder Wand, it made perfect sense for him to say something like that. It fit the situation perfectly, while him making an innuendo did not; her mind was just conjuring tricks while she was fully alert rather than half asleep or dreaming. But she had six brothers and she knew all about how boys enjoyed the word play when they said "wand" but really meant "penis."

For the first time since it had hit her (in the Great Hall while they played Exploding Snap) that she wasn't going to see him for almost three full weeks, she was glad she was going home for Christmas. It might help her cool off a little. It was unfair to Harry that she was reading into his words, looking for something that just wasn't there.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

The moment Ginny took hold of his hand to demonstrate the Filing Charm for him, all thoughts flew out of Harry's head and he could no longer even pretend to pay attention.

He'd already been having little thoughts like _we are alone in this room,_and _I wish she would lift her robes so I could see her bum,_ then, catching himself even in the privacy of his own thoughts, added hastily, _through her trousers._ These were normal thoughts, however, and he'd already gotten used to them. But whenever she touched him... the sensation was heightened by the fact that she did it so rarely. And he was the only person she didn't mind being so close to. He couldn't help the fact that his body responded.

But his reaction was extreme even for him, and it was extra torture when her breast brushed up against his arm. She moved his arm around and then did it again, and every time she made him flick his wrist, he felt it again.

She said something to him, and he replied, though he wasn't completely aware of what he was saying. He shuffled closer to her, hoping for more contact. She'd let go of his hand.

"I have to go to class," she said softly after a few minutes.

He cleared his throat. "Do you need a note?" He forced himself not to ask her to demonstrate for him one more time.

He watched her leave and, in a daze, shut the door and locked it before walking around his desk to sit in his chair. Harry didn't even bother to pull his trousers all the way off his hips, but undid them enough so he could get the job done. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and found his favorite fantasy of her. She was straddling his legs and her face was close enough to his that her hair was like a curtain and all he could see was her face. He had both hands on her bum, rocking her, and she was smiling at him the way she had when he'd brushed the snow off her shoulders...

It took remarkably little effort to finish. In the dazed aftermath when he was still recovering and messy, he kept his eyes closed. _I really need to make sure I take care of things before I spend time alone and in close quarters with Ginny,_ he thought.

Reliving the scene as he usually liked to do, it suddenly struck him what he'd said to her. She'd been helping him and he'd thanked her by making an adolescent sexual innuendo. He stared down at himself, suddenly not so pleased. And more than a little embarrassed that he'd been so turned on that he hadn't even thought twice about wanking in his office in the middle of the day.

He narrowed his eyes at it. _You're going to get me into trouble,_ he thought. Using the Elder Wand, he cleaned himself off and readjusted his clothes, all the while trying to convince himself that she might not have taken his comment sexually. She hadn't panicked or anything. She'd left for class, but maybe that was because she really hadn't been late.

_Hope for the best,_ he told himself bracingly. _And don't let it happen again._


	12. Christmas Time Is Here Again

20 December 2001 - 24 December 2001

_Harry is staring at my bum._

And it had started out as such a normal day, too. Well, as normal as the day she retuned home for the Christmas holidays could be. But when Ginny woke up three years, six months, and six days after Malfoy Manor, she had no idea that today would be the day that she caught Harry staring at her bum.

Arnold was still snoring when they left the room, not to return for almost three weeks. The night before, he'd been too busy playing in the pile of laundry that had decorated her floor to go to bed at a decent hour. Ginny had no clue that her pygmy puff could find such enjoyment out of making a swan dive from her bed to the clothes; she lost count how many times he'd done it. And since it was cute and she wanted to watch, she'd gotten a very sleepy start as well.

She threw on a pair of Muggle jeans and a sweatshirt, stuffed her nightgown and the clean laundry into her trunk, and closed it. It took her about thirty seconds to gather up the things she was taking with her on the walk from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade: Arnold's bag, Arnold, and her wand. The pygmy puff didn't even wake up when she transferred him.

All the while, she was thinking that she was really going to miss Harry.

"I'm going to miss"--_you_--"flying with you," she blurted out as soon as he opened the door to her knock. His hair was tousled, his shirt was rumpled, and he was wearing pajama bottoms. Ginny didn't know why, but he seemed especially attractive this morning.

"I'm going to miss you too," he replied immediately, opening the door to his quarters wider to let her in. She walked around him and into the first room a few feet. All professors had three rooms plus a private loo for their own use, and this was the first time she'd been in Harry's. Ginny looked around at the sparse room, hands on her hips.

"Maybe that's what I'll get you for your Christmas gift," Ginny said. "You obviously need furniture." She poked at the old sofa with her toe. The orange and green fabric was torn and looked like it was falling apart.

Harry looked around as well, as though seeing the room for the first time. _Or noticing it,_Ginny thought. That seemed quite likely. "I don't spend much time in here," he admitted. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe you can help me fix it up when you come back."

"I'd like that," she said.

He smiled at her. Then mischief lit up his eyes. "You don't know what you're getting me, do you?" he asked. "I've known for ages what your gift is. I haven't gotten it yet, though, you'll have to wait until you come back."

Ginny felt a flutter of excitement. She did like gifts, and she especially liked that he was getting her one. _Now how am I going to wait?_ "What is it?" she asked excitedly before she could stop herself.

He shook his head, and his smile widened. "Some things don't change, do they? And I am _not _telling you. It's meant to be a surprise."

Ginny would have liked to try to cajole him out of it a bit more, but just then a rowdy group of students walked by, talking loudly, and Ginny realized that she didn't have much time to say anything else. "I'm letting you off the hook because I have to go," she informed him. "But don't think it'll be so easy next time."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Harry murmured. "Have fun with -- with your family."

"Have a Happy Christmas," Ginny told him. She didn't want to leave. Then a thought struck her. "You aren't going to be alone, are you?"

He shook his head. "The Lupins invited me over."

"Good," she said. She bent over to pick up Arnold's bag and turned back to ask him--

_Harry is staring at my bum._

The realization struck her. It was so obvious that she couldn't even deny it. His eyes were on her bum, and there was a little smile hovering on his face as though he liked what he saw. Her stomach swooped almost painfully, and for long moments all she could do was watch him watch her.

She straightened up and turned toward him, mind buzzing with so many thoughts that she couldn't hold on to just one. _What does -- why is he -- does that mean--?_

"Three weeks seems like a long time," he said.

"Yes," she replied dazedly. "It does." And without really even thinking about it, she walked over to him and gave him a one-armed hug. He returned it, resting his cheek on the top of her head for long seconds, while she wondered what, exactly, bum-watching meant to him.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," she said again, pulling away.

"Happy Christmas, Ginny," he replied.

She forced herself to leave. Once the door had shut, she checked to make sure no one was in the corridor, and then checked the seat of her pants, just to be sure he hadn't been staring for completely different reason than she'd thought. But her pants were clean, and she spent the next several hours (pretty much all the way to London, in fact) alternating between picturing the scene over and over again and trying to figure out what it meant. And then when she looked back on some of their interactions with the knowledge she now had, it became apparent that today was not the first time his eyes had lingered on her bum. She just hadn't noticed.

_I could ask Hermione._ The thought tantalized her as the Hogwarts Express pulled into King's Cross. It embarrassed her a little; it felt odd to want to gossip about Harry (even though she'd never mention his name). But at the same time... Hermione knew a lot about this kind of thing... she would know.

Ginny absently stroked Arnold (who was sleeping again after several hours of almost appalling energy), weighing the pros and cons. She could trust Hermione; if Ginny asked her not to tell anyone, she wouldn't. Not even Ron. But then... even one person might be too much. What if Hermione made a huge deal out of it and wanted to hug her or something? Ginny wasn't stupid. She knew that her interest in male attention would be quite a large deal for the other witch. And since Ginny wouldn't tell Hermione who the wizard was, and therefore couldn't say that the feelings weren't new, they'd just been rejuvenated, Hermione might be even more excited about it.

_What if she gets emotional?_

Ginny couldn't decide if it would be worth it or not, and this made her even more uncomfortable with her family. That first night, after the round of greetings and chat, she had to flee to the quiet of her room. _They don't know what you're thinking,_ she reminded herself. But she felt very exposed, as though if they looked hard enough, they could see her private thoughts and feelings written just under the surface of her skin.

It took her three days to decide what she wanted to do, though it was really the state of her nerves that made the decision for her. If she could just have some clarity, her mother would stop giving her worrying looks.

The day before Christmas Eve, Ginny finally broke. She launched herself off her bed and grabbed Arnold. And before she could change her mind, she loped out of her room and clattered down the stairs. The rest of the family was congregated in the living room. George was talking, while she lurked for a few moments, trying to prepare herself.

Taking a deep breath, she walked in.

"--Verity said it was definitely him," said George.

"Harry Potter's hard to miss," added Fred. "He walked in and bought something -- Verity didn't specify--"

"Ginny!" her mum said loudly. Ginny gave her a fleeting glance; the shock written on her mother's face rankled. She turned back to Fred.

"Harry was at the shop?" she asked, confused. _What was he doing there? Did he want to see Fred and George?_ "Why?"

Silence fell and everyone gaped at each other. Ginny's face felt like it was lit on fire. _Don't make a big deal about it,_ she begged them. _So I mentioned Harry. It isn't something you need to harp on about._ But the moment extended and Ginny both braced herself and started shuffling back out the door.

"Yeah," said Fred, to Ginny's relief. "He was there. It was just an hour ago, though. We"--he indicated himself and George, who was staring between Fred and Ginny, eyes wide--"weren't there, obviously."

"He probably did that on purpose," Ginny murmured, mind racing. What if he was buying her Christmas gift? The urge to talk to Hermione grew even stronger. "Hermione? Can I talk to you?" she blurted out. She avoided looking at the rest of the family, and couldn't help but be extremely relieved that she was oriented so that she couldn't see her dad at all. She'd managed not to have to look at him or talk to him much at all this holiday, and she wanted to keep it that way.

"Of course," Hermione said at once, using Ron's leg to get herself off the couch.

Ginny left the room, trusting that Hermione would follow her, glad to be away from all those eyes. _Thank you, Fred,_ she thought fervently. She flashed a smile at him just before he went out of view. Hermione was a quiet presence at her back while she returned to her room, and she began to mentally prepare herself for the conversation.

Once they were alone and the door was shut, Ginny stood in the center of the room, staring down at Arnold. He was very still in her hands, but his eyes were very bright as he watched her intently.

"Remember when I used to stay in here?" Hermione asked. Now she stayed with Ron, despite her mother's half-hearted protests.

Ginny nodded jerkily, not really wanting to use reminiscing as a tool for procrastination._Just do it, Ginny._ "How do you know when someone fancies you?" Ginny said very quickly before she could talk herself out of it.

Hermione's eyed widened in surprise, but she rallied quickly. "There are several indicators," she said carefully. "Lots, really. Everyone is different. For example, not every boy feels the need to mercilessly tease the girl he fancies like Ron. Is there someone you think might fancy you?"

Ginny smiled. "Promise you won't tell them?" She pointed at the ground, meaning to indicate her family.

"I swear."

It took a few moments before she was relaxed enough to talk. "I've been spending a lot of time with someone," she admitted. "And I can -- talk to him. And he likes spending time with me, too." Once she started, the words came swifter and easier. "He -- I caught him staring at my bum," she finished in a rush. _I hope I made enough sense to her._

Hermione's face bloomed into a wide smile. "That's a pretty definite sign that he fancies you," she said. "I take it you fancy him too?" Without waiting for a reply, she hurried on. "Based on what you told me, I think it's safe to say that your suspicions are correct. Especially as you say he likes spending time with you? How much time?"

"A lot," Ginny said. "He flies with me pretty much every day."

"Excellent!" Hermione said.

Ginny couldn't help but relax. Hermione's happiness wasn't effusive, nor was she being patronizing at all. She sat down cross-legged on the floor, and let Arnold out of her grasp. "He said he's buying me a Christmas present," she confessed. _Was that really why he was at the shop?_

"Are you going to get him one?" Hermione asked curiously.

A little pang of guilt went through her when she remembered acquiring Harry's present. It felt sneaky, even though the objects had been his to begin with. "Yeah," she said evasively.

Hermione didn't press. Instead, a little gleam of fun (_She's definitely turning into a Weasley,_ Ginny thought.) lit in her brown eyes. "You know... there's a way you can find out for sure if he fancies you..."

Ginny perked up again. "I'm listening," she said.

Over an hour later, Ginny prepared for bed, Hermione's advice buzzing through her head._I should have asked her about the author of the book while I had her alone,_ she thought. But she hadn't wanted to cast a pall on the otherwise fun conversation. Hermione had lots of great ideas ("But don't tell your brother," she'd laughed. "He'd never let me live it down if he knew I'd tried out these tricks on him.") and most of them were subtle enough that Ginny knew she could do them.

She fell asleep thinking of Harry, and how pleasant it would be if he was falling for her...

_The girls' dorm was strangely changed. Instead of the partitions and room for three girls, Ginny's bed was the only one there and she was lying in it. Completely naked. She was safely tucked under the bedclothes and even though she was quite alone, she was blushing. The light dimmed as though the sun set, casting strange shadows on the wall; Ginny was uncertain whether or not she was supposed to be frightened of them or not._

But soon they disappeared all together, and it was completely dark. But not a scary darkness. It was a velvety darkness that pressed down on her; it was warm and humid, and she arched her back and the covers drifted off her.

"Ginny," Harry whispered. Even though Ginny couldn't see him, she could tell he was leaning over her, and very close.

Her heart jumped in her chest. I'm naked!_ And she began to retreat automatically. But then she remembered the darkness and the fact he couldn't see her just as much as she couldn't see him. As soon as the fear receded, she felt his lips pressing against hers. The tips of her breasts brushed against his chest -- he was naked -- and she suddenly felt restless._

Harry kept kissing her, and it was really the only place they touched, until his hand came up and cupped her breast. Recognizing this as familiar territory despite the fact that she was naked in a bed, she arched her back again and pressed herself into his palm. Tension built inside her; it was similar to what she'd felt in his office, during her waking life, when she had demonstrated the spell, but much stronger.

When her nipple had puckered fully and he moved his hand off her chest and down to her stomach she flinched. But the intensity of his kiss shifted and she focused most of her attention on his mouth and what it was doing to hers while his fingers traveled further south.

At the same moment his hands brushed gently on her inner thighs, she sort of wished that it was brighter so she could see him. But then he would see her naked, and she didn't want that, not really. And then his hand was directly over her, applying pressure against a sweet spot, and she pressed herself firmly against the palm of his hand. Still he kissed her, and she moaned a little, rocking against his hand while he helped the pleasure mount and mount until the tension released her and stole her breath.

Ginny woke up still breathing heavily. She had a sated, happy feeling in her limbs and she closed her eyes again, wanting to hold onto it. Gradually becoming aware of what had just happened, she realized that her thighs were clenching one of her extra pillows. Rolling over onto her back, she continued to bask in the aftermath.

It was just barely dawn; the sun was beginning to peek over the top of the mountains that surrounded the Burrow. Ginny got out of bed and opened her window, letting the crisp air hit her. The dream about Harry had been wonderful, but now that it was fading, something about it unsettled her, and she couldn't quite put her finger on the reason why. And she didn't want to probe at it too much, for fear of ruining the memory.

Knowing that she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, she went down to the kitchen, leaving Arnold nestled on her pillow. And Ginny was still so unaware, still so sleepy, and still feeling pleasant and heavy, that she had already pulled out a cup and used her wand to pour water into the kettle to boil before she noticed her dad sitting at the table.

Dread immediately swamped her.

"Good morning, Ginny," he said gently.

She didn't answer him, and wished she could retreat back to her room. But it was best to at least _try_ to be normal. Her mother had been watching her these last few days, and the last thing on earth she wanted to do was give her another reason to insist on her seeing a healer who specialized in psychological trauma.

"Did you hear me?" he asked, a very slight edge in his voice.

"Yes," she said stiffly. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine Harry's face as he flew. Or the way he sometimes reminded her so strongly of Arnold. But not even Harry and Arnold could take her fully away from this moment. "Good morning, Dad."

"How did autumn term go?"

"It was fine," she forced out. She surreptitiously lowered the heat on the kettle, slowing down the process. Maybe by the time her tea was done, he would be gone. The anxiety was swiftly rising in her; she had not felt quite this terrible around him in a long while, since before Arnold.

"How's Arnold?" he persisted. Usually she could play this game with him, but for some reason, she was incapable of it today. She remained silent, staring at the water and tried to count the little bubbles rising to the surface. But he refused to let her ignore him. _Damn him_. "It's polite to answer a question, Ginevra Molly," he said in a voice that brooked no argument.

The sound of her full name -- the Death Eaters had never called her Ginny, always Ginevra -- caused wave of rage and pain to crash over her. "He's _fine_," she snapped. And suddenly, inexplicably she began to cry. Tears traveled hot and fast down her cheeks, and the small part of her that could think clearly was shocked. Her ability to cry -- really cry -- had disappeared three years, six months, and eleven days ago. It seemed like such a silly thing, as well; her dad had only asked her how her pygmy puff was.

But the rest of her was forced to give into it while it lasted. Sometime during, the water came to a full boil. She splashed it into her mug, threw in the leaves. "I'll see you later," she muttered, keeping her face hidden. Once up in her room, safe again, she held the hot cup in her hands while her eyes dried.

Her hands shook slightly, and she couldn't help but think that she was not done crying. For today, yes. But maybe since she started laughing again, she would have to put up with the tears, and that aching, searing pain in her chest that had been unleashed by a very simple conversation with her father.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

23 December 2001 - 25 December 2001

The owl came an hour after dinner, when Fred had just happened to be alone in the kitchen, serving himself a third slice of pie. He was a little worried about the shop -- it was the day before Christmas Eve, after all, and they were open two hours later than normal to help the poor sods who left the shopping until the last moment -- but Verity had things well in hand. She'd worked for them for years, and she had help. They didn't need to be micro-managers.

But he recognized Woodworth immediately, and Fred wondered if perhaps he had been wrong not to listen to George's nattering. Once he'd read the quick note, however, he wished he'd been at the store for a different reason.

He poked his head through the door to the living room. "George," he said. "Come here for a second." His twin untangled himself from Angelina Johnson (likely to be Angelina Weasley soon) and stumped toward him.

"Is it the store?" he asked. "Should we go in?"

"Don't be such an old woman," Fred told him. He shoved the note at George. "Read this."

It took him only seconds -- it was very short, after all -- and Fred watched George's eyebrows fly so far up his forehead that they appeared to have become one with his hair. George whistled.

"That's -- wow," he said.

"I know," Fred nodded.

"Should we tell them?" George asked, jerking his head toward the living room.

"I don't see why not," Fred said, shrugging, though he didn't feel nearly as nonchalant as he tried to appear. The fact that Harry Potter had been in their store -- risking seeing one of them for the first time in well over three years -- was big news, and Fred didn't know how he felt about it. Harry had been like another brother, and the family missed him a lot. And even after everything they'd done to support him, he hadn't once attempted to contact them. Even with the situation with Ginny... he could have just not come around her.

Besides, Ginny was made of stronger stuff than everyone else seemed to think, and Fred was getting a bit tired of treating her like she was made of glass. She was a Weasley, damn it. They'd practically been bred for strength. Whatever had happened at Malfoy Manor, it couldn't have been _that_ bad. They'd both survived, hadn't they?

"You're sure?" George asked.

"Yeah," said Fred. And not waiting for George's reply, he walked into the living room where every member of his family in the country (besides Ginny) and assorted friends gathered. "Harry's just made contact," he announced, deepening his voice for comic effect. George shoved him between the shoulders.

"What?" Ron said blankly.

"As eloquent as always," Fred shook his head.

George waved the slip of paper, and Ron snatched it from him. "I believe her. Verity said it was definitely him," he said.

"Harry Potter's hard to miss," added Fred. "He walked in and bought something -- Verity didn't specify--"

"Ginny!"

Fred whirled around. Ginny stood in the doorway, staring at him.

"Harry was at the shop?" she asked. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Why?"

Despite the fact that Fred had always maintained that she wasn't now made of glass, he couldn't help but be a little shocked that she'd not only come down to join them (willingly), but that she seemed perfectly willing to talk about Harry. He didn't think he'd heard her mention Harry for years. But the easiness left her face, and she flushed brighter and brighter, until Fred began to suspect that it might be better to just pretend like it wasn't a big deal.

"Yeah," Fred said, trying to sound casual, flippant even. "He was there. It was just an hour ago, though. We"--he indicated himself and his twin, who was trying to tell Fred (silently) to shut the hell up--"weren't there, obviously."

"He probably did that on purpose," she said quietly, staring at the floor. Fred was pleased to see her blush receding. "Hermione? Can I talk to you?"

"Of course," Hermione said immediately. Fred watched his only sister carefully. Just before she disappeared around the corner, he thought he saw her smile at him. _Maybe that was just a trick of light,_ he thought dubiously. He was not the only one staring at where the two girls had disappeared.

"_Fred!_" his mother said loudly, the moment they were certain Ginny was out of earshot. "Could you try to be a little more sensitive?"

Fred fired up at once. "How about let's not treat her like she's a bizarre magical creature? It's pretty obvious she doesn't like to be stared at."

But his mother wouldn't back down. "You know that mentioning things like that just make her unhappy--"

"I may be wrong," Fred cut across her loudly, "but I think I heard her _ask_ about him. It wasn't until you lot started staring at her that she went a bit funny."

"Don't call your sister funny," his dad said sternly. "We obviously neglected teaching you tact, and I regret it."

Fred subsided, feeling a bit guilty. But he couldn't help it, could he? She had gone a bit funny. Not a lot, of course. But she treated Arnold like a baby, and hated being around people to the point of irrationality. He also thought it was a bit rich of his dad to think everything was completely right with Ginny, when she obviously had such a hard time being anywhere near him. She wouldn't even look at him if she could help it. He loved Ginny a lot, but he wasn't going to deny the facts.

"Fred has a point," Ron admitted hesitantly.

"Regardless," his mother said stiffly.

Fred rolled his eyes, suddenly wanting to escape. "I'm going back to the flat," he announced, pushing himself off the wall he'd been leaning on. He was tempted to turn on the spot and Disapparate right there, but that was considered very rude and only to be done when there was a genuine reason. And being annoyed with his family was not reason enough.

"Good night," everyone chorused, even his mother and father.

"I'll see you at Christmas," he added, just before he walked out the door and into the cool night. He decided to walk all the way down the drive. The cool air felt good, and offered him some clarity. _I don't really think she's off in the head,_ he told himself. _But how can someone go so long without laughter?_

On that cheerful thought, he Disapparated.

The next day passed in a blur of business, and before he knew it, it was long past midnight. George was spending the night with Angelina and Fred's bed was empty. He didn't even have time to feel lonely before he slipped into sleep, still wondering why Harry had bought a pygmy puff, of all things.

When Fred Apparated to the Burrow with George and Angelina early Christmas morning (neither twin was afraid to admit to being excited about the presents), he took a deep breath, glad to be home, despite the craziness of his family. _Not that I don't contribute my fair share,_ he thought judiciously.

"Presents," George said, grinning over at him.

Angelina rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Will you two ever grow up?"

"Fat chance," Fred said cheerfully.

"Why would we?" George winked at her.

It was on that note that they entered the Burrow. Everyone else was awake and milling about, eating and drinking tea. Even Ginny was sitting cross-legged in a dressing gown in front of the Christmas tree, looking more thoughtful than distant. Almost approachable. Fred was just about to walk over to her when Ron clapped him on the shoulder in greeting.

"Happy Christmas, Fred," he said. His eyes strayed to where Fred was looking and he grimaced a little. "We're a bit surprised she came down," he lowered his voice. "She didn't come out of her room at all yesterday, except early in the morning, Dad told me."

"Because of what I said about Harry?" Fred asked softly.

Ron shook his head. "Hermione said she was in a decent mood when they talked. And before you ask -- I have no idea what they talked about. Hermione said it was girl stuff."

"Girl stuff?" Fred asked in disbelief. "Ginny?"

"Right, that was my reaction. Anyway," Ron rolled his shoulders and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Dad said it was business as usual. She barely even spoke to him and escaped the kitchen just about as fast as she could."

Fred grimaced and was about to reply when their mother clapped her hands together, waved her wand, and all the presents came floating into the room at her command. There was not much talking after that (Weasleys took present-opening seriously) except for words of thanks, awe, and the occasional grunt. Fred glanced at Ginny a few times, and she was almost as enthusiastic as the rest of them. Arnold the pygmy puff was showing off for her by playing in the wrapping paper.

Hermione's cry of delight caught everyone's attention, especially his mum's, who obviously thought it was the moment Ron would propose. "It's beautiful, Ron!" she threw her arms around him and gave him an exuberant kiss. She pulled away, beaming, and holding up a very pretty bracelet. "Opals are my favorite," she said. Fred smirked. Ron had finally learned.

He almost didn't even recognize Ginny's laugh when he heard it. And despite the fact that he knew better, the moment that sound reached his ears, he swiveled his head to stare at her. Just like everyone else.

"You've gotten better at the gifts," she said, still grinning. "Remember that awful perfume you gave her at Grimmauld Place?" But Ron couldn't bring himself to reply, and the smile slowly slipped from her face.

Fred tried to recover. "That's right," he said shakily. "I remember that -- smelled like mothballs to me."

But his feeble effort didn't work, and she lowered her eyes, cheeks stained dark red. She made to stand up, but their father's voice stopped her.

"Don't leave," he said in a raspy voice.

But she only hesitated a second and got to her feet, already clutching Arnold. "Arnold is--"

"Arnold is perfectly fine."

She ignored him and, stepping over wrapping paper and legs, was almost all the way to the door when a shield erupted in front of her, blocking her access. "Let me go," she said in a low voice.

"No," Arthur Weasley's voice was implacable, and yet shaking, and Fred realized that he'd finally been pushed too far. His patience was at an end. A part of him wanted to cheer. "You can't keep ignoring us, Ginny."

But she remained defiantly silent, as did everyone else. Fred thought he might've heard a pin drop, and the air was so thick with tension that it made his skin feel tight. Her long hair rustled as Arnold settled into place on her shoulder. The silence stretched on.

"Ginevra--"

"DON'T CALL ME GINEVRA!" she whirled on him, shouting, and Fred was so shocked that even he recoiled. Her face was lit with rage and something else.

"I--"

She cut him off again, actually pointing her finger at him. "Don't you ever call me that again," her voice dropped to a hiss. Fred realized she was quite out of control, and perhaps she'd broken much the same way their father had. He and George exchanged silent glances, and Fred was certain he was thinking about what happened to that reporter who had pushed Ginny too far. _She doesn't have her wand,_ he mouthed.

"Fine, Ginny, I won't," their dad made a placating gesture. "I promise. But you need to be fair to us. You _laughed_, Ginny, I'm sorry it surprised us so much, but... be fair. I know you blame us--"

"I don't blame you," she said automatically. Fred grimaced, not believing it. Of course she blamed them. It was dead obvious.

His father appeared to be thinking along the same lines. "I think you do, and that's fine. But I'm tired of you retreating. Yell at me. Scream at me again if you have to. You've shown more life today than you have in years."

Ginny stared at the ground, chest rising up and down rapidly. Fred was afraid to even move, though he understood her desire to flee. The part of him that preferred laughter to tears and always wanted to make a joke was telling him to get the hell out of the house.

"Talk to me."

She shook her head.

"I should have been there to protect you," he continued. "I'm your father and I--"

"Stop," she said, face screwed up. "Just stop talking."

"Only if you start," he countered. Fred's palms were clammy. "Tell me that you blame me. I think -- I _know_ -- it'll make you feel better. And me, because you treating me with total indifference is far worse than anger. Tell me that I should have known something was wrong, that I shouldn't have believed your letters. Tell me I'm a horrible father because I let you be -- be taken."

Fred watched Ginny's face. She was growing paler by the second.

"Tell me that I should've been the one there rescuing you," he continued relentlessly. "Tell me you hate me. I don't care. Just be honest."

"I don't--"

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" he shouted.

"THEN GET A FUCKING CLUE!" she yelled back, head snapping up, face bloodless. "I'm not an idiot, Dad, thanks. I know what steps Voldemort took to keep it a secret, that wasn't--"

"Don't you dare tell me to get a clue, when everyone in this room knows you hate me for something--"

"_You're balding!_" she screamed at him. _What?_ "How could you possibly not have noticed when they were taking your hair?" Fred didn't understand, but the moment the words were out of her mouth, Ginny's face crumpled horribly, though she kept her back straight. There was a suspended moment of confusion--

"No," Hermione whimpered, and Fred glanced over at her. Her eyes were filled with tears and her hands were over her mouth. He felt a sick feeling of dread; Hermione looked as though she was about to vomit.

"You -- are you--?" Ron stammered. His face was screwed up and he had his hands in his hair. His throat worked convulsively. "Please..."

_What does Dad's hair have anything--_

But then it hit him and his brain pretty much stopped working. _She's got to be kidding,_ he told himself. _It's just a sick joke. They wouldn't have used Polyjuice. It isn't possible._ But he couldn't deny that Voldemort had gone far beyond usual evil -- he'd made Horcruxes, after all -- and Lucius Malfoy had hated Arthur Weasley enough.

"NOW LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!" she bellowed, looking almost deranged with anger. And Fred began to understand how someone could live so long without laughing, just as his mother started to cry. "Are you _happy_ now? I hope you feel better knowing Lucius Malfoy fucked me with _your body_ because -- because I--"

But she cut herself off as the shield came down. Fred glanced over at his father almost against his will. He was sitting with his head in his hands, and this was infinitely worse than the shouting, and was nearly as bad as the hopelessly enraged and heartbroken expression on Ginny's face.

She left, and what felt like just moments later -- though it had obviously been more like minutes -- something heavy thundered down the stairs: her trunk. She'd just thrown it down, not even bothering with magic. Fred couldn't blame her; his stomach was still pitching and he'd only lived with the truth for minutes. Not years. And he hadn't been raped by someone pretending to be his father.

"I'm leaving," she told them unnecessarily. She was still wearing her dressing gown. "I'm going to school. I don't -- please don't come after me."

**Author's Note: **_Some of you have expressed concern about the wanking. Personally, I think that Harry's thoughts about Ginny while he's taking care of business are pretty tame and tasteful for that kind of moment. Also, there's a reason why this story is rated for mature audiences. _

_Also, this chapter was probably the toughest I've written pretty much ever. You can ask Andi (hgfan1111); I've been whining about it for a while. Let me know if I've done the confrontation justice. _


	13. Imagine

25 December 2001

Teddy Lupin looked up at Harry with wide, pleading eyes. Harry should have known that he'd be ambushed right outside the loo. He'd seen this coming since he'd first arrived several hours ago in the early afternoon. "Please?" he begged, sticking out his bottom lip.

"No," Harry said firmly. "I'll bet your Mum and Dad would let you have one of your own, though," he added, when that lip began to quiver.

"It wouldn't be _Puffy_, though," Teddy pointed out, gazing longingly at the midnight blue pygmy puff Harry cradled in his hand. Harry winced at the name. He'd had Ginny's Christmas gift for two days now, and he still hadn't thought of a better name for her.

"But wouldn't you rather have a baby pygmy puff?" Harry said reasonably. "This one is--"

"NO BABIES!" Teddy shouted, planting his fists on his hips and looking suddenly very angry. The tips of his hair turned red.

Dora rounded the corner, took one look at the situation, and winced. "I should have told you," she said apologetically, looking at her son with a bemused expression on her face. "He isn't too pleased that we're having a you-know-what, and any mention of the female gender drives him wild."

"Oh, that's easy, then," Harry said, relieved. He bent down. "See, Teddy? This pygmy puff is a girl. You don't want a girl, right? Your mum just told me--"

"Puffy is a _girl_?" Teddy asked, revolted. He made vomiting noises. "You didn't tell me _that_," he accused, as though Harry had withheld vital information.

"Yep, she's definitely a girl," Harry said cheerfully, glad that he'd found a reason why Teddy would stop trying to guilt him into giving him Puffy. But Puffy was the only female pygmy puff (who also happened to be just a month older than Arnold) who could conceivably be Arnold's new girlfriend. "And girls are yucky."

"Thanks, Harry," Dora said dryly, rolling her eyes. "We were _trying_ to convince him that girls aren't all bad -- hard enough to do with Victoire Weasley running around."

"Girls are stupid," Teddy said. "Especially at that time of the month," he added wisely, as though he'd heard this axiom many times (though Harry had a feeling that Teddy had no idea what 'that time of the month' really meant) and was just repeating it. His brow suddenly furrowed in confusion. "But Mummy... Daddy has that time of the month, too, but he isn't a girl!"

"_Ted Remus Lupin!_"

Harry swiftly retreated, trying to hide his laughter. Truth be told, he was thankful for Teddy's presence that day. He'd been a bit nervous showing up with a pygmy puff (how could he leave her all by herself for so many hours?), but though the adult Lupins had given him several odd looks, Teddy's excitement over Puffy had acted like a buffer.

He left Dora to her scolding of her small son and wandered back to the kitchen, still wondering if he'd made the right decision with Ginny's gift. What if Arnold was enough for her? What if she thought Puffy was just too much? Harry had already thought that he could volunteer to let Puffy stay with him... he and Ginny spent so much time together that it wouldn't make much of a difference.

But he couldn't help but think she'd like it. Embarrassingly enough, he'd had the idea of Puffy ever since she'd demonstrated the Filing Charm for him and he'd been forced to masturbate in his office. He couldn't help but remind himself of Arnold, and the way he was in heat; the idea to get Arnold a girlfriend had been born out of empathy more than anything else.

As he rounded the corner to the kitchen and heard lowered voices, Harry felt a trickle of unease. Remus was speaking to someone whose voice was tantalizingly familiar. It was a Weasley, he knew that much. He leaned up against the wall and, despite the rudeness in it, strained his ears to hear.

"Ron and Fred are still blowing up trees," George said in a toneless voice. Harry felt a little quiver of fear. "Hermione and Mum and the other girls are in the kitchen -- we don't know what they're doing. Dad... I just don't know. And Percy had this idea--"

"George," Remus said firmly. "What the hell happened?"

"I -- Ginny..." there was a level of grief and disgust and rage in George's voice frightened Harry as nothing else could. "Remus... Lucius Malfoy used Polyjuice when he -- when he raped her. The Polyjuice with -- with Dad's hair."

And it was as though the long-dead Voldemort had come roaring back to life and back into Harry's mind. Image after image -- the kind that had made death a surrender and not something to be avoided -- rose up into his head. And the one that had bothered him since that night was especially vivid. Ginny and a man whose hair appeared dark in the dimly-lit kitchen where she'd been chained like an animal. He was on top of her, her eyes were wide and staring and her mouth open in a scream. And Harry hadn't recognized -- hadn't wanted to -- that man. After everything was over, he'd asked her again and again if there had been anyone else besides the two Malfoys and Greyback, but she'd said no.

And there hadn't been, not really. Just Polyjuice. Harry's vision went red and he could barely hear the conversation over the roaring in his ears. _I should have known. I should have known_. He'd seen it, and now that he remembered, he'd seen a cauldron full of the potion sitting on the counter.

"--have an idea, Percy thought of it, of all people," George said, voice flat and dull again. "And thought you might want to help..."

"Of course," Remus said. "_Of course. Shit_, George. I can't -- where is she now?"

"She went back to school," George replied.

_Ginny is at school._ Harry focused on those words. _Ginny is at school and all alone._ And without a word of goodbye or even a pang of regret, Harry turned on the spot and Disapparated. He hit the ground running, and pulled open the gate. eyes already up, searching the sky. The clouds were grey and threatening to spill over with a storm, and, everywhere Harry looked, they were empty.

But he couldn't imagine her being anywhere else, and he found himself in the center of the Quidditch pitch, staring up, looking for her crimson hair. George's words and the images Voldemort had planted into his head so long ago haunted him and followed him. He didn't even want to imagine the circumstances in which she had told, because it must have exploded out of her, she usually kept everything so tightly bottled up.

_Damn it, Ginny, where are you?_

He thundered up the stairs, all seven flights, and burst into the Gryffindor common room and up to the girls' dormitory. Glad that he was a professor and therefore allowed to do this, he pounded on the door. "Ginny!" he shouted. His pygmy puff burrowed even further into the pocket of his cloak. "Ginny, let me in!"

Five minutes passed before he gave up -- Ginny wouldn't just leave him standing out there -- and tried to figure out where she'd go next. The Room of Requirement? He'd never run there faster in all the time he'd been a student. He left the Fat Lady yelling at him to treat her with some respect. Ignoring her, he flew toward his destination, keeping his eyes wide open, because every time he closed them, he saw everything.

_Of course that's what happened,_ he thought as he paced in front of the door to the Room of Requirement. He'd seen it, he just hadn't wanted to understand. No wonder she'd never mentioned her dad. No wonder.

But no matter how much he kicked at that section of the wall or yelled at it or asked it to show him where Ginny was -- because he certainly required it -- it remained firmly closed to him. _She must not be here,_ he told himself. But he'd run out of options, hadn't he? He strode over to the window, gazing out at the grounds and the sky. Still no Ginny.

_I'm going to have to get the Marauder's Map from Hermione._ The thought struck him and he was running again toward his office and the floo. He ignored the fact that showing up at the Burrow on Christmas Day after Ginny had told everyone a truth of what had happened to her would be awkward. He ignored the fact that he hadn't seen or talked to Hermione in years. Instead, he changed course and sprinted down to his private quarters where he could use the floo. He turned the corner--

"_Ginny!_"

Her head jerked up at his cry.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning up against the door to his private rooms; Arnold sat very still on her leg. Harry felt such relief that his knees were weak and his heart skipped a beat. She stood up as soon as he approached and, almost without thought, he wrapped his arms around her. _She can push me away if she absolutely must..._

HPHPHPHPHPHP

25 December 2001

The moment Harry folded her into his arms, Ginny felt warm again in what might have been forever, though she knew it was closer to four years. Her hands came up and pressed against his back, and for a moment, she let herself revel in the sensation of his hug. The first one she'd had in years; ever since she'd seen who she thought had been her father--

But she pulled away from the thought just as she pulled away from Harry. It had taken her several hours on her broom to lock away the rage that had controlled her actions and her words, and she was very afraid that if she held on to him like she wanted to, it would cause her to break her grasp again. Not in rage, but... the tears were just below the surface, swirling around with the anger and helplessness that would just not go away no matter how much she ignored them.

Still. She was already dangerously close to tears. "Hi," she said in a voice that was overly bright even to her own ears. "I decided -- I wanted -- I came back," she told him unnecessarily. Her throat kept threatening to close, but she forced the words out. Looking him in the eye was beyond her, though; even the thought made the emotions grow closer. Earlier, she'd felt that she'd been pulled out into deep, churning waters of the ocean, and she'd just managed to fight the undertow and return to shore. "I wanted to give you your gift," she lied. And because she wanted to have something to do with her hands, she pulled the Marauder's Map from the pocket of her sweatshirt.

Harry took it with hands that shook and didn't say anything for a long moment. "I'm -- this is wonderful, Ginny," he said haltingly. "I -- do you..." he gestured toward his door. "Do you want some tea?"

It hit her then that he must know, somehow, what had happened. Or at least that something had happened. When he'd come sprinting up, she'd been too relieved to notice this was not normal behavior. And when he'd hugged her, it had been too wonderful and terrible to really notice.

She nodded, and stepped around him when he opened the door for her. The silence seemed especially loud. Harry made no move to actually make tea, and she vaguely wondered if he even had a teapot. He didn't seem the type to have even the most basic of appliances.

Then he took away the question. "Kreacher," he said quietly. And with a soft pop, the house-elf appeared. He opened his mouth to speak, ears quivering, but Harry cut him off. "Make tea for both of us, please."

Ginny could feel his questions pressing down on her. And she could tell by the way his movements were jerky and the way he kept attempting to say something but kept stopping himself.

"Did Arnold miss me?" he asked in a raspy voice.

Ginny seized on this. "Very much," she told him. For a moment, she was so grateful that he wasn't going to push her that she might have been hit with the Jelly-Legs Hex. But in a strange way this made the tide of emotion come in further, until she could feel it lapping at her feet.

"I got you -- I have your present," he told her.

She jerked her head in a nod. "That was... I'm sure I'll -- I'm going to like it," she said, forcing to take deep, even breaths through her nose. _Don't lose it, Ginny,_ she told herself. _Not now. You can't._ A thought struck her, and she focused all her energy on the guilt it brought. "Harry, I never asked Hermione about the author of the book! I meant to, I really did"--_I was too busy asking her how to tell if you fancy me or not_--"and I'm really sorry and--"

"I don't care," he said almost violently. "Don't -- just don't apologize."

Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she forced them away. They were still standing in the center of the room, and she was almost too afraid to move, as though if she did it would be impossible to hold on to herself. "So," she said. "What is this gift you keep promising?"

"Well," he said. "I'm not sure if you'll like it."

Ginny doubted that.

And then he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked to be a ball of midnight blue fluff. A pygmy puff. Ginny stared at it, confused. "It's a girl," he said quickly. "She's only a month older than Arnold, and I think -- well, if he goes into heat again... he won't be quite so lonely as he was last time."

All she could do was stare. Then, for some inexplicable reason, the image of her father's face was superimposed over the small pygmy puff. _I did that to him._ It was just after she'd flung the truth at him like a weapon and the horror and repulsion she'd lived with for years had been reflected back to her. She could feel the tears rising up her body, and she was powerless to stop it. Inexplicably, Harry's kind gesture had exactly the same affect as her father being so completely wrong, and the measure of control she had was sliding through her fingertips.

But she had to give him some warning. "I'm not -- I'm not all right." She lifted her eyes to meet his, and almost involuntarily raised her arms a little as though asking for a hug. Which she was. "I think -- I just..." but she couldn't do it. _I think I killed my father today._ How could she say that to him? The overwhelming hurt on his face... and the tears hit.

"I know," he said. And for the second time in ten minutes, he held onto her. It started small. Only a few tears leaked out. His hand stroked her back and he rocked back and forth just a tiny bit--

And then it was just too much. Deep, wracking sobs shook her entire body; they were so strong that she might have fallen over had he not been there to keep her upright. "It's just not fair," she heard herself say.

"It isn't, it really, really isn't fair," he murmured.

"I could've..." she began, but it took a while -- possibly minutes -- before she could talk again. "If they'd just not -- did you know?"

He didn't have to ask her to clarify. "I did, but I didn't," his hands convulsed, fisting her sweatshirt for a moment before he let go. "Ginny... I didn't want to believe it. I really didn't. But," he swallowed hard, "I think I must've known because when I was with -- when I left you with the Healer at the Burrow, I just couldn't... the idea of seeing your dad..."

Harry didn't finish his sentence, but he didn't really need to. And gradually, the tears began to subside and while her entire body trembled, her limbs began to relax. Tension drained out of her until she was limp, and leaning on Harry even more, and when he led her over to the sofa, she didn't protest. And when he thrust a cup of tea in her hands, she wrapped her fingers around it and sipped it gratefully. It was still warm.

Her eyes wandered around the room, and then widened in surprise. _Is Arnold... dancing?_ She'd never seen him jump in a circle and shuffle around a bit with such precision and repetition. As she watched, though, he broke his pattern and ran full tilt to the opposite side of the desk (where the other pygmy puff was), but she swiped at him and turn her back on him, fully puffed. And he meekly went back to his corner and began to do his weird little dance again. And then the cycle was repeated. Despite the girl puff's seeming annoyance and indifference, however, she kept turning back around and watching him avidly.

Ginny was almost shocked to find herself smiling. Her entire face was swollen and still, the sight of an overly enthusiastic Arnold being rebuffed again and again brought a smile to her lips. "What's her name?" she asked.

"Well, I've been calling her Puffy--"

"_Puffy?_" Ginny asked, half horrified, half amused.

"I was waiting for you to name her," he said defensively, though Ginny could hear the smile in his voice.

"I'll think on it," she said vaguely. The distraction the pygmy puffs had offered had not lasted very long. And this time when she relived that last, horrible few moments of the confrontation with her father, she didn't feel rage or grief, but an overwhelming hopelessness. "You were right, you know," she said in a low voice.

"Ginny, I--"

"He really did destroy everything," she added. Harry had yelled that at Voldemort just before their one spell duel. "It just... it took him three years, six months, and twelve days to do it." She twisted to look at him; his eyes were wide and fixed on her face. "I meant to never, ever tell them. I -- I've just lost them. How can I possibly face them again?"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

25 December 2001

Harry cringed at her words, thankful that she wasn't looking at him. The memory of having those words practically ripped from his chest was so vivid and clear that maybe if he closed his eyes, he would be brought back, as though the last three and a half years had never happened. As if he hadn't run away from everyone who loved him and whom he loved. As if he hadn't come to Hogwarts and Ginny hadn't shown him that the words weren't true at all.

"I was wrong," he said. She looked over at him again. "Look at you."

She laughed bitterly, but it was still a laugh. _Fifteen._ "I don't know what you see when you look at me, Harry, but I think you--"

"You're at Hogwarts," he cut her off, voice louder than he'd expected. "You play Quidditch like you were born to it and loads of people like you. And you befriended me even though you were -- well, it was pretty obvious that you didn't want to see me." He had to make her see it from his perspective. "You haven't -- you didn't let him destroy you." _Thank God._

Harry watched her take a sip of her tea, and it struck him that of the two of them, she was stronger. Before he'd seen her again, he had expected that she would be exactly as she'd been at Malfoy Manor. What she'd suffered had been so deep and terrible that Harry had healed only a little, and he hadn't even lived through what she had. He'd just been a belated witness. But she'd picked herself up.

Ginny didn't say anything for long minutes, and the room gradually darkened. Harry lazily reached for the Elder Wand and lit a fire in the hearth.

"I think..." she said quietly. "If Lucius hadn't -- if there hadn't been a masquerade..."

Harry sensed that he shouldn't say anything, so he kept his mouth shut, and haltingly and with many interruptions, she talked. Ginny loved Mr. Weasley very much, but she just couldn't forget, and the not wanting to talk to him, look at him, or think about him was an added pain.

"I remember, you know," she said, glancing at him out the corner of her eye. "The way it used to be. And sometimes that's a lot worse than remembering Malfoy Manor."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, thinking of how the happy memories could be like a punch to the gut.

"I just -- I don't..." but her words appeared to dry up and she lapsed into a frustrated silence. Harry waited for her to get going again, and, sometime later, she did. And it was anger that dripped from her voice, not grief. "I wish he'd -- why couldn't he have just known? And then he made me say it in front of everyone... he should have just -- and that's really unfair of me."

Harry understood exactly where she was coming from. Every time anyone asked what had happened, he wanted them to just know without him having to tell them. Because then they'd leave well enough alone. It wasn't realistic of him, and it wasn't fair, but he couldn't help it. "I think that's why it's so easy to be around you," he mused, mouth against her hair. Somehow -- he didn't know when it had happened -- he was holding onto her again, and they were so close that she was practically on his lap. "I don't have to tell you anything because you already know."

She nodded against his chest, and he stroked her back. His eyelids were heavy, and he peered blearily at the clock. It was only nine, but he was rapidly becoming too tired to stay awake. Even Arnold had given up his wooing of Puffy. Both pygmy puffs were snoring on different piles of parchment. Though even as he watched, Harry noticed Arnold shifting closer to her.

"Do you still think you'll stay away from your family?" he asked quietly. She stiffened.

"I can't imagine actually going to see them again," she admitted. "Any of them. If you'd been there... if you'd seen them. I hurt all of them quite badly."

"Because you shared some of your pain with them," he told her. And Harry knew that he was the worst sort of hypocrite. He'd left the Weasleys, hadn't he? If she wanted to leave, if being around them was too much for her, then she had the right to make that decision herself. But the idea of her living the way he did in an empty house, without the comfort of having other people around, with no one to talk to, made his chest hurt.

"I never meant to," she said. "I didn't want them to know."

It was strange to see some of his own thoughts reflected exactly back at him, and yet in her, he could see the flaws. What had been done to her wasn't something to hide away and let fester. She didn't have anything to be ashamed of, like he did. He couldn't help but be glad that she had shared her burden with others, because what if it lightened the weight on her shoulders? He ached for the Weasleys, but if he knew them at all, he knew they would want to take away some of her pain. And none of them flinched from the truth.

While Harry wracked his brain trying to figure out a way to tell her this without sounding intrusive, she fell asleep. He could tell by the way her entire body relaxed, still curled around his, and her breathing deepened. Her hair slid into her face, and he hooked it behind her ear again, to keep it out of her mouth.

And then the events of the day hit him, and he pressed his palm to his forehead. He'd gone from having a homey Christmas with the Lupins, to frantic about Ginny -- he could admit now that he'd thought he'd lost her -- and searching desperately for her, to holding her as she finally let it out, and then now, this moment, which was more intimate than anything Harry had ever experienced. He was exhausted but in some inexplicable way, he felt stronger than he had in years.

The firelight flickered in her hair, and it struck him again that even though her face was swollen and blotchy and her hair was tangled because she'd been flying and then he'd had his hands in it, she was still the loveliest witch he knew.

It happened so quickly that Harry could barely process it, but it was more like sinking into a warm bath than being hit by a lightning bolt. As he looked at her, she gave a little snore and he felt her warm breath through his shirt, and he felt such a wave of tenderness and admiration, the desire to protect and just plain desire, that he couldn't deny his feelings for her any longer. _I'm in love with her,_ he thought dizzily.

His hand tightened on her shoulder and she murmured a little, and tucked herself closer.

He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, completely shocked and yet completely not all at once. And he couldn't even doubt that it was true. Ginny -- blushing, stammering, laughing Ginny -- had come blazing back into his life with a vengeance, and Harry was both elated and terrified by the fact that there was no coming back from this.

Supposing that she ever felt the same (a big if, in Harry's opinion) the complications were many. The press would find out, and they'd have a field day. They would be questioned and scrutinized. And the Weasleys. _If_ she fell in love with him too, and _if_ she did what he hoped and maintained a relationship with her family, it would be impossible for him to stay away.

But when he closed his eyes and tried to envision that scene, it didn't strike him with dread. He could see himself with his arm around her and Ron and Hermione and all the others standing near, and though he feared the steps it might take to get to that point, he knew that he would see this scene were he ever to look upon the Mirror of Erised again.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

26 December 2001 - 30 December 2001

The raw, horrible feeling slowly dissipated over the next few days. Ginny had woken up the day after Christmas still laying on the couch, limbs tangled pleasantly with Harry's, and found that some of the awful pressure on her chest had eased overnight. It helped that the only other person she saw besides him had been Professor McGonagall, who had caught her heading up for a wash and fresh clothes. And she hadn't mentioned Christmas (though Ginny knew it was too much to hope for that she didn't know -- she was a member of the Order, after all, and her parents would have checked to make sure she was all right), just offered greetings and moved on.

Ginny had wondered if the professor knew she'd spent the night in Harry's private rooms. But McGonagall hadn't said anything, and Ginny hadn't wanted to tell her if she didn't already know. It had been completely innocent, of course, but still.

Not to mention that Ginny still wasn't sure if Harry's feelings for her went beyond friendship or not. The more the time passed between her confrontation with her father, the more she thought about Hermione's advice. Just last night when Ginny had packed up Arnold (after allowing the newly renamed Calliope to stay with Harry), she'd stayed bent over for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.

He'd looked, of course. But Ginny knew very well that attraction didn't always mean fancying. Unfortunately, testing his emotions was a trickier business, and Hermione hadn't offered her much advice in that respect at all. _He got you Calliope,_she told herself that morning as she prepared to go meet him. She was alone in the dormitory except for Arnold.

_He likes spending time with you. He didn't want you to leave last night._

But Ginny didn't know if he just felt sorry for her or not.

Three years, six months, and sixteen days after Malfoy Manor, Harry suggested that she look into the Mirror of Erised.

It took her a moment to remember what that actually was. Embarrassingly enough, she'd been a bit distracted by his mouth, and remembering that he'd been kissing her thoroughly in her dreams again. "The Mirror of Erised?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding. He was avoiding making eye contact with her, and Ginny suspected that he thought it was important. And it might have something to do with her family. Yesterday, he'd casually mentioned that he'd been really lonely before coming back to Hogwarts, and that self-imposed exile was pretty awful. While he obviously had intended this to be a subtle coax, Ginny saw right through it.

"But what's the point?" she asked. "It shows you your heart's desire, doesn't it? Not the future?" Lifting her chin, she met his eyes. He was quite close, almost absentmindedly letting Arnold use his hand and arm as a climbing wall.

"Well, I dunno," he said, shrugging, and glancing down at Arnold. "Maybe it might help. You know. To know what it is your heart desires most. Sometimes it can be kind of like a goal."

"What do you see?" she asked, almost as a challenge.

He ruffled his hair and scratched the back of his neck. Ginny could practically see his indecision march across his face as he considered whether to tell her or not. _You shouldn't have asked him such a personal question,_ she told herself. Her face flushed. "Look, I'm--"

"I haven't actually seen it," he admitted. "Not for ten years, anyway. But I'm guessing it would be you and me together with the rest of your family. And probably Remus and Dora."

Her heart twisted at the image, though her mind lingered on his words. _You and me together._ Did he mean together as a couple? Or just standing next to her? But she was almost as entranced with the vision of him with her family again, whether she was there or not.

"All right," she heard herself say. "I'll do it."

It took him another day to arrange matters, but three years, six months, and seventeen days after Malfoy Manor, Harry led her up to the Room of Requirement. Arnold was clenched in her damp fist, and she almost wanted to turn back. She wasn't sure if she wanted to be confronted with her heart's desire, because what if it was completely unattainable? What if it showed her somehow not being captured and going to Malfoy Manor? Then it wouldn't give her any hope, ephemeral or tangible.

"I'll stay out here," Harry announced, once the door had appeared.

Ginny was grateful that he offered her this privacy. She wasn't sure if he would even be able to see what she saw. But since she was in love with him, she was pretty certain she'd see him in the mirror, and it was just an added complication. "Do you mind... can I take Calliope, too?" she asked. Harry immediately reached into his pocket and brought out the snoozing pygmy puff.

Arnold was overjoyed, Calliope not so much.

At first she worried that the room had not manifested the mirror after all. It was almost completely dark, until little lights began to form a path and as she traveled further into the room (_Do I require a strange quest atmosphere, too?_ Ginny thought dryly), it grew brighter and brighter until a large, old mirror stood directly in her path.

For a few moments, all she could see was herself, pale and anxious. Then the background filled in and she sat down heavily on a chair that magically appeared. "Ohhh," she moaned softly.

The worst (and best) part of what she saw was the fact that, once upon a time, it would have been entirely normal. It was right outside the Burrow (Ginny recognized the chicken coop) and everyone she loved was there. Harry had his arm around her, and as she watched, he leaned down to steal a kiss. Once he straightened up, he turned back to Ron, who had the sly look on his face that told Ginny that her brother was teasing Harry mercilessly.

Other family members and friends milled about (Teddy and Victoire ran across the front of the mirror, almost too quickly for her to track). And when her dad tapped the mirror-Ginny on the shoulder, the real Ginny flinched. Her breathing deepened as she watched herself smile and then laugh, and then he tugged on her hair, just like he used to.

Arnold and Calliope frolicked together in the grass. Her brothers and their wives and girlfriends talked and laughed and teased. And ate. Piles and piles of her mother's cooking appeared to complete the image of perfection.

_I want this_, Ginny realized. Her hand involuntarily traced the image, as though if she tried hard enough, she could enter this scene. It looked so bright and happy and warm... _I want this._ She looked at Harry again. He was staring at her reflection as though drinking her in.

Ginny didn't know how long she stayed, but by the time she left the Room of Requirement (after retrieving Calliope, who had apparently required a place to hide from Arnold), it was dark. Harry pushed himself off the wall, a dozen questions in his eyes. But Ginny wasn't ready for that yet.

_Can I really have that?_

It seemed like it might be too good to be true. But... Ginny had watched the mirror-Harry quite a lot, and she recognized some of the looks he had given her. She'd seen them in real life. And in some inexplicable way, it seemed to her that if Harry could actually have feelings for her, and that one thing was possible, the rest might be attainable as well. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest.

"Do you really think it could be a goal?" Ginny asked him just outside the door to his private rooms. He unlocked it and they both went in.

"As long as it's physically possible, I don't see why not," Harry said quietly. He shut the door and sat down on the arm of the sofa, watching her carefully.

Ginny thought about this. She hadn't been given the impression that the scene took place in a world where Malfoy Manor hadn't happened. Too much was alike. And that was probably what had made it even more poignant, actually, to be given a vision of near perfection that came after the darkness.

But lovely as all of it was, she focused on what she had seen of Harry. And suddenly she didn't want to test him in the subtle ways Hermione had told her, because even though he looked at her bum and held open doors for her and tried to stay in her company as much as possible, she wanted fact not speculation.

Almost unconsciously, she licked her lips, and thought she might have seen Harry's gaze flicker toward them. "Do you -- let's say if it was physically possible," she said. She was thinking more of the way he had kissed her in the reflection than of her family. "Do you think I could do it?"

"I think you can do anything if you want it badly enough," he answered immediately. "Look at what you've already done."

The room was suddenly quite warm, and her heart pounded. _You're in Gryffindor,_ she reminded herself, taking deep, even breaths. Ginny was reminded strongly of the time when she'd taught him the Filing Charm. Except that maybe she was about to do something about it. Maybe. He was only two feet away, but his lips seemed quite distant. Her stomach flipped over.

"Can -- do you want to tell me what you saw?" he asked.

She jerked her shoulder helplessly. "This," she said, face suddenly so hot it felt like it was on fire. But suddenly she just couldn't stand it anymore. "I'm sorry." _He can push me away if he absolutely must._ And then she closed the distance between them, put her hands on his shoulders (she was very glad he was sitting down), and pressed her lips to his.

--

--

**Author's Note: **

_Ooooh. I wonder what's going to happen next! Thanks, all, for the reviews for the last chapter. As much as writing that confrontation with Arthur was difficult, this one was a joy. Especially that last paragraph. Go, Ginny!_


	14. I Want to Hold Your Hand

30 December 2001

The moment Harry saw Ginny as she exited the Room of Requirement, he knew he had done the right thing in encouraging her to look at the Mirror of Erised. Some of the ragged despair had left her face, and because of this, his step was light as they walked back to his rooms.

Except that three times he had to stop himself from grasping her hand. _No, Harry, she wouldn't appreciate that just now,_ he told himself sternly. Belatedly, he reminded himself that it probably wouldn't do for a professor to blatantly hold a student's hand. Not that it would stop him with Ginny... just in public...

"Do you really think it could be a goal?"

Ginny's voice jerked him out of his (admittedly tame) fantasies, and he was surprised to realize they were already at their destination. He opened the door for her, and she walked by. His stomach took a dive when she brushed against him.

"As long as it's physically possible, I don't see why not," said Harry. He sat down on the arm of the sofa while she shuffled in the center of the room, looking about a hundred miles away. Harry understood. It was a disconcerting feeling, being confronted with one's greatest desire... and then realizing that it might, just might, be attainable.

There was something slightly different in the way she watched him. He wasn't certain she was entirely aware of it, but she gazed at him frankly. Desire, never far from the surface when he was near her, kindled in his belly. And when she licked her lips, it almost undid him.

"Do you -- let's say if it was physically possible," she said tentatively. "Do you think I could do it?"

Harry didn't even have to think about it. It amazed him that she still didn't know how strong she was. "I think you can do anything if you want it badly enough. Look at what you've already done."

She hooked her hair behind her ears, and his gaze was drawn to the vivid red that shone like fire. The temperature of the room raised by about ten degrees. _I hope I'm not the only one feeling this,_ he thought. He wanted to reach out and hug her, maybe even kiss her -- all right, he definitely wanted to kiss her. But the last thing he wanted to do was move too fast (or at all, if she didn't share his feelings).

"Can -- do you want to tell me what you saw?" he asked. _I hope you saw me._ But even if she didn't, that was all right. If she just saw herself with her family, that would make him happy. He didn't want her to wake up every day missing so many people. Still. There was a limit to his selflessness, and he wanted her to want him.

She shrugged and, face scrunching up, moved a little closer. Almost close enough to touch. "This," she said, in a shaky voice. She flushed bright red. "I'm sorry."

For one, dizzying moment he had no clue what she was about. _Why is she sorry?_ Her touch was feather light on his shoulders; her hands were very warm. Harry sucked in a breath as her face moved closer and closer. Her eyes flickered closed and he could almost count her eyelashes. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion... their breath mingled together for what seemed like an eternity...

And then she kissed him.

It didn't last nearly as long as Harry wanted. He didn't even get a chance to return the kiss and she was already pulling away. _No._ He caught her elbows and cupped them in his hands. Her fingers convulsed, twisting his robes, and her breathing quickened. Harry gave her enough time to continue backing away, but when she didn't move, he pulled her closer until their bodies almost touched. _Yes. Thank you._

He pressed his lips to hers, every nerve ending on high alert. The calm, rational, and swiftly disappearing part of him warned him to be gentle and not to scare her. It went quiet when she wound her arms around his neck and he wrapped his around her waist. Blood thundered through his veins and he contemplated coaxing her to open her mouth and--

It took several seconds for Harry to realize that the knocking sound came from the door, and it was with great reluctance that he pulled away. Ginny stepped back at the same moment. _Who the hell is that?_ he thought, highly irritated with the intrusion.

It was Professor McGonagall. _Do they have some sort of spell that alerts them when professors kiss students?_ he asked himself, feeling far more annoyed than guilty. Ginny busied herself with Arnold and Calliope. This was particularly quick thinking, he thought.

"Er," he said, ruffling his hair.

"Bellatrix and Rabastan Lestrange are dead," she announced.

Harry was so prepared to be either fired or reprimanded, that it was not until he heard Ginny gasp that her words really sunk in. Voldemort's best lieutenant was dead, along with her brother-in-law. The woman who had murdered her own cousin, Harry's godfather. Glancing sidelong at Ginny, who had her hand over her mouth, he tried to gauge his own reaction along with hers.

The only thing he felt was happiness with a very sharp edge. It was almost a given that the Lestranges had something to do with Ginny's capture and torture. They were at least damned with knowing about it and thinking it completely all right to torture a young girl. Harry sort of wished that he'd killed her himself, and felt a fierce pride when he saw the same desire in her face. _It's hard to be a bloodthirsty victim._

"That's really great," he said enthusiastically. McGonagall blinked at him. But the relief at her not knowing what had just happened combined with the news that two prominent Death Eaters were no longer alive made him a bit more expressive than normal. Plus, it wasn't like he could pretend to be sad about it.

"Yeah, it is," Ginny agreed. "How did it happen?"

"The evidence is inconclusive," McGonagall said, sitting down on the sofa. _I just kissed Ginny just a foot away from there._"But they believe it was some sort of riot. Another prisoner, perhaps. There was no sign that it was done magically."

Harry let out a low whistle. That took a special kind of hatred. But of all the prisoners in Azkaban, he thought that Bellatrix and Rabastan would be the least likely to win any popularity contests. "I can't say I'm surprised," he admitted.

"Only that it didn't happen years ago," added Ginny.

Harry wondered if she knew or somehow guessed how badly he'd wanted to go after all the Death Eaters who might have had a hand in her suffering. But the blind rage he'd felt immediately following his discovery of her under the table and Voldemort's ultimate defeat had not stayed with him long. He looked at her again, but she was staring determinedly at McGonagall.

Once he realized he was staring at her mouth, he gave his head a surreptitious shake. _Not in front of McGonagall!_ "And does the Order know anything? Or Kingsley?"

"Oh, now you've remembered the Order of the Phoenix, have you?" McGonagall asked tartly.

Harry flushed, and felt a surge of guilt that had nothing to do with Ginny, who induced more pleasure than guilt. For long moments, he couldn't think of anything to say. _Just say something,_ he told himself.

"I'm sure Harry remembers the Order of the Phoenix," Ginny said calmly. She had her head bowed, and was pushing a ball of parchment around with her toe, much to Arnold's delight. Harry recognized the signs of retreat, and knew she was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by memories of Malfoy Manor.

"I know he does," McGonagall said. Something in her voice had softened. "I suppose that _we've_ forgotten that he remembers."

Harry wanted McGonagall to leave for several reasons. The subject of talking to friends and reestablishing connections seemed more raw when she hinted at it. Having it brought up made it seem too real and immediate. It already seemed imminent enough, as he could still feel Ginny's lips against his. _And that's the major reason why I want her to leave,_ Harry admitted to himself. He wanted to kiss her again.

"Well," McGonagall stood up, brushing off her robes. "I thought the two of you ought to know."

"Thanks," said Harry, hoping this was a sign that she was leaving. "I appreciate it. I really do."

She nodded her head sharply. "Well, goodnight then, I'll leave you two--"

"I'm ready to call it a night myself," Ginny said quickly.

_No!_

Harry gaped at her, disappointed. It took him several seconds to school his features into a (hopefully) less revealing expression. Ginny only gave him the most fleeting of glances, before she followed the other professor to the door. "Can I have Calliope for the night?" he asked grumpily. He couldn't believe she was leaving.

"Of course," she said, scooping up Arnold and placing him in his bag.

McGonagall stared down at the pygmy puff, a small smile hovering on her lips. Even through his annoyance, Harry understood. Calliope was exceedingly cute, though sympathy for poor, besotted Arnold's plight surged through him. Calliope had thus far refused the other pygmy puff's advances, and though their situation wasn't quite the same -- _she kissed me first!_ -- he really felt for Arnold.

Ginny met his eyes briefly as she left, and her mouth quirked into a grimace and she shrugged a shoulder. And then she was gone.

Harry stared at the door, then picked up Calliope and brought her up so he could look directly into her bright purple eyes. "You females are a lot of trouble," he told her. He fought the instinct to go after her. But what was he going to do? Force her to come back to his rooms where he could kiss her? What if she didn't want him to?

He threw himself down on the ugly sofa while Calliope clung onto his shirt for dear life. "Sorry," he muttered. Even saying that word made him think of Ginny and how she had apologized before kissing him. _She kissed me!_ Closing his eyes, he relived it. His imagination didn't even get to the part when she licked her lips before his arousal came back so swiftly it was almost painful.

His robes were on the floor along with his trousers and shirt by the time he remembered he had an audience. "Don't watch," he warned Calliope, who blinked up at him. And then he closed his eyes and watched Ginny kiss him over and over again. He stroked himself the way he thought she would: gentle, but sure. Instead of trying to get it done as quickly as possible, he tried to draw out the sensation for as long as he could, imagining that it was Ginny's hand wrapped around him. He could still feel her lips on his, and he groaned her name as he finished.

He cracked his eyes open, still taking deep, shuddering breaths, to find Calliope less than an inch away from his face, staring at him with wide eyes. This made him slightly uncomfortable, as though he'd just done something obscene. "I couldn't help it," he said defensively. If he didn't wank, he'd never be able to be around Ginny without exploding. "Besides," he added, when her scrutiny didn't waver. "I told you not to watch."

Once he cleaned up and found a clean pair of pajama pants in his bedroom (not a simple task), Harry summoned Kreacher to ask for a cup of tea. He blew on it and took a tentative sip, and walked over to the window to look out into the night. Now that the pressure was gone, he was able to fully realize how happy her kiss had made him. He wasn't even all that irritated anymore that she ran away. He'd go after her tomorrow morning

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

30 December 2001 - 31 December 2001

Ginny paced her room, extremely grateful for the absence of Demelza and Emma. The events of the day filled her up, and she felt swollen with it. The Mirror of Erised had inspired hope in her where before she'd been barren of it. Bellatrix Lestrange was dead. Ginny didn't have to worry about what her eyes had seen -- Bellatrix wouldn't see anything anymore. Savage delight had joined hope.

And of course, Harry had kissed her. She'd kissed him first, but his response had been so wonderful that Ginny had pinched herself to be certain she was awake. She lightly touched her fingers to her lips. Already she wanted to kiss him again. But McGonagall's sudden arrival had rattled her.

It was -- the whole day had been... Ginny didn't even have the words to describe it. But she felt as though she'd been out in a snowstorm and freezing, and then she'd come inside to stand beside a blazing hearth. The sudden warmth burned. The feel of Harry's arms around her and his mouth on hers felt so good that it hurt.

"Arnold, guess what," she whispered. Arnold, who was lounging on the bed, staring at the ceiling, peeped disinterestedly. She ignored this. "Harry kissed me!" It embarrassed her to even say it out loud, especially given the fact that her voice was breathy and giddy and she sounded about thirteen years old. Ignoring the way her heart felt like it was trying to beat out of her chest, she sat down cross-legged on the bed and stroked Arnold's fur. She had to admit that his disappointment in the romance department was not high on her list of things to think about.

Another surge of energy pulsed through her and sent her off her bed. She paced for a while longer, just letting the thoughts run through her.

_I have to go to bed,_ she told herself finally. It was very late (or very early), and she had to sleep at some point. Feeling slightly nervous, she withdrew the blue nightgown Fleur had given her and spread it out on the bed, staring at it critically. Arnold even perked up a bit and came to investigate and was soon rolling around with abandon on the soft material.

_It is quite lovely,_ she thought. But it was too much, wasn't it? There was lace over the breasts, and it seemed small enough that it might hug her hips. Once she found herself actually stroking it, she almost reluctantly replaced it and brought out her normal nightgown.

Arnold retreated to the opposite side of the bed and lay down with his back to her.

"There's no need to be huffy and puffy," she told him.

Ten minutes later she was under the covers and yet dead certain that she wouldn't be able to sleep. Harry and her family chased each other in her thoughts. Harry had kissed her. She wanted the vision she'd seen in the Mirror of Erised to be a reality. The night waned and her mind replayed the kiss again and again and intermixed with that, she kept seeing her father tug gently on her hair.

And she gradually became accustomed enough to the warmth that she fell asleep, sky already lightening in the east.

The afternoon sun spilled onto her bed, finally waking her up. She sat up, rubbing blearily at her eyes. It took a moment for her to remember why she was happy. Her stomach flip-flopped mid-yawn.

_How am I -- how is this going to work?_

They'd already established a routine. Ginny would wake up, eat, then go pick him up at his private quarters and they would go for a fly. Then they would return to the castle for lunch and then either play games or talk. Eventually, she would leave to go to bed, and then the cycle would start all over again.

But she didn't know how it was going to work now. Should she just go to his room again? Should she mention it right away (not likely), pretend it never happened (she hoped not), or just kiss him again? What would he do when she saw him? Would he say or do anything? Or had he kissed so many girls that one more wouldn't really matter?

Her stomach growled, piercing through the cloud of anxiety, and making her aware that it had been far too long since her last meal. She was a Weasley, after all; starvation was not their strong suit, and it had been almost a day since her steak-and-kidney pie.

She rushed through her wash and, hurriedly dressing, she scooped up Arnold and trotted out the dorm, climbed through the portrait hole, and walked very quickly down to the kitchens. _The house-elves like me,_ she told herself. _I'm not hiding from Harry. I'm just waiting until I decide what to do._ It wasn't as though she was frightened of seeing him. She was excited and anxious, but she didn't want to act completely giddy in front of him.

_I'm not thirteen years old anymore,_ she told herself firmly. Ginny was older and the feelings she had for him weren't that of a little girl's and she didn't want him to think that for one instant. If she started giggling...

Ginny didn't notice Harry until she almost walked right into him.

"Ginny!" he said, gaping at her. He looked as surprised to see her as she was him, and he stood up from the table immediately.

"Hi, Harry," she said, hating that she blushed. Glancing away, she noticed that he had the Marauder's Map lying on the table, closed. Relieved to find a safe topic, she pointed at it. "Using the Map, then?"

"Yeah," said Harry, while Ginny cursed herself for being stupid. "It was a really great gift. I love having it back again."

"That's good," she said. Her stomach rumbled again and she grimaced.

"The house elves are -- well, they're making you food now," he said awkwardly, ruffling his hair. _He had them make food for me?_ Ginny looked up at him, smiling. Some of the awkwardness had faded, though the excitement and growing anticipation was almost as bad. His eyes searched her face, and something in his seemed to relax.

Her face heated up but she maintained eye contact just as she felt his fingertips brush the top of her arm. His head was coming closer and--

"Your food, Professor Potter!" said an excessively cheerful, annoying voice. And even though the small house-elf carried a full platter of delicious looking food, Ginny wanted to hex her.

"Thanks," Harry said grudgingly.

The moment was lost.

_Maybe there _is_ actually some sort of enchantment on Hogwarts that prevents kissing,_ Ginny thought. Professor McGonagall's untimely interruption last night had immediately caused her to think along these lines. Perhaps it was irrational of her, but Ginny found herself slightly irritated with Hermione. She shared everything else about Hogwarts, and still liked to recite facts from _Hogwarts: A History_ at the dinner table. The least she could do was share something interesting. And useful. _It's not like Hermione could have known that Harry would be your professor and would want to kiss you,_ a small voice pointed out fairly.

She ate quickly, and was mostly quiet, while Harry gave Arnold a pep talk.

"She'll come around, mate," he said comfortingly. Ginny hid a grin at Calliope's continued rebuffing of Arnold, much to his dismay. His little dance had grown even more elaborate in the last few days, but the harder he tried, the more she turned away. "Girls do maddening things sometimes."

Ginny couldn't help but feel this was a remark aimed in her direction, though she couldn't really be sure. She watched him surreptitiously and, even though he was attempting to bolster Arnold's flagging self-esteem, he kept stealing glances at her. Every time he did, her skin tingled. _Hogwarts has too many house-elves,_ she decided.

"Do you want to go on a walk?" she asked.

"Yes," he said automatically. He got up so fast that he almost knocked over the bench. Ginny swallowed the last of her pumpkin juice, while he eyed her. "I suppose you'll have to go up and get a cloak," he said. "Although..." he drew his wand, pointed it at her, and muttered something under his breath. "A warming charm," he explained. "You won't feel it--"

"--until I'm outside where it's really cold," she continued for him, nodding. "I don't have their bag, though, so I'll have to go get that. It's too cold outside for pygmy puffs."

"Hey," he said. "Why don't we leave them in my quarters? That way they can run around and be warm and Arnold can keep trying to woo her?"

"All right," she shrugged. _They'll be happier there,_ she assured herself. _And there's not much trouble they can get into._ But as they walked down the corridor, the pygmy puffs drifted from her mind, to be replaced by thoughts that were more sensations. They brushed up against each other often, and Ginny wanted to reach out and grip his hand.

But every time she nearly surrendered to the impulse, she heard someone's voice coming from down the hall, or saw a flash of someone else's robes. These served as reminders to the fact that they weren't alone; Hogwarts was not completely deserted, and it wouldn't be good for someone to see.

Arnold and Calliope were safely ensconced in Harry's sitting room and they were nearly to the doors of the Great Hall when Ginny broke the silence. "How did you know that I would be hungry?" she asked.

He glanced at her. "You're a Weasley," he pointed out. Then he shrugged. "I saw your dot finally move"--he patted the pocket in his robes that held the Marauder's Map--"and thought you'd appreciate not having to wait long for your breakfast."

"Thanks," she said quietly. The image of him, watching her dot on the Marauder's Map, soothed some of the giddiness and anxiety.

They wandered down to the lake. Ginny's heartbeat increased as they drew further and further away from prying eyes. It was December and frigid; Ginny was slightly chilled even with Harry's spell. More than that, there was little chance of anyone meeting them.

"It's my turn, isn't it?" he asked suddenly, as soon as they rounded one final corner. And he grabbed her hand. His palm was warm and slightly damp, as if he might be a little nervous too. She squeezed a little, and he squeezed back.

Their steps slowed to a halt. Ginny wanted to say something, but she couldn't really focus on just one thing. Other than that the happiness was almost overwhelming again.

"It's a new year tomorrow," Harry said. Ginny glanced at him out the corner of her eye; he was staring out over the water. "I have no idea what I did on the last day of last year. Or the first day of this year." He lightly stroked her palm with his thumb. She moved closer, resting her cheek against his upper arm. "All the days pretty much ran together. I ate, I slept, Kreacher bullied me, I avoided people. Sometimes I mixed it up and did the same thing in different countries."

Ginny felt a pang at how lonely that must have been. She stroked his arm. "I hope it isn't -- I hope it's better for you now."

"Yeah," he said. "It is. Because of you."

Ginny jerked her head back and stared at him. He was looking at her again, and his other hand came up to grasp hers. It seemed almost unreal to her that she had helped him the way he was a comfort to her.

"I remember specific days now," he said, shrugging a little. "Like when you let me babysit Arnold while you played Quidditch, or the first time we flew together, or when you helped me up to the hospital wing." He paused, and shifted a little, pulling her with him, until they stood face to face, hands still entwined.

Ginny wanted to tell him what his words meant to her, but couldn't seem to force herself to speak.

"You made me really happy yesterday," he admitted.

"Me too," she blurted out through the thickness in her throat. "I mean -- I -- you made me happy too. It felt like -- like someone else's life."

"I know the feeling," he said. Slowly, he moved his body so that he was lower on the gentle incline, and his face was suddenly quite close. "Want to explore those other lives a bit more?"

Ginny was chuckling when he kissed her. "Nineteen," he said against her mouth. _What does--?_

But her thought was cut off when Harry let go of her hands and threaded his fingers through her hair. She lost herself in the sensations, and she had no idea how long it lasted. Just that when he finally pulled away and buried his head against her shoulder, enfolding her in a tight hug, they were both breathing heavily, and days might have gone by.

"I like these other people," she said finally. "We should pretend to be them more often."

"A lot," he nodded, lifting his head and giving her another kiss. "Though we might have to still pretend to be professor and student during class."

HPHPHPHPHPHP

31 December 2001

Percy Weasley just happened to be in the kitchen when the family clock was almost blown to bits due to his mother's wrath. He understood a little that seeing Ginny's hand move from 'Malfoy Manor' to 'At School' would so enrage her, but still. When her eyes flashed at it and her wand came up, he knocked her arm so the Blasting Hex hit a shelf of plates instead.

She stared at him, breathing hard. "Don't you -- how dare--?"

But Percy realized that he wanted the clock to remain intact. Rather desperately, in fact. He examined his feelings and knew without a doubt that it would hurt him -- and everyone else -- quite badly if the clock was blown up like half the trees in the orchard.

"Please don't destroy it, Mum," he said quietly.

Her face had a pinched, desperately unhappy look on it. It hadn't changed since Christmas day, when Ginny had finally told them a measure of the truth. "It isn't real, anyway," she snarled. "Look at it. LOOK AT IT!" He did. "All this term... for _six months_ almost, that _damn clock_ has been lying to me."

"But--"

"How dare you stop me," she hissed. Percy took a step back, suddenly wishing that some of the others were here. "Weren't you the one who orchestrated--"

"Those were Death Eaters," he said. He tried to remain calm, but the grief and rage in his mother's face was almost too much to bear. "This is -- it's family. I don't--"

"YOU'RE A FINE ONE TO TALK ABOUT FAMILY!" she screamed at him and poked him hard in the chest. "Weren't you the one who _left_ us?"

Percy recoiled as though she had struck him. She'd never, ever brought that up. Never thrown it in his face. And he knew that under normal circumstances, she never would have said anything like it, no matter how much he deserved it. _But this appears to be the week for painful honesty._ The urge to leave rose up in him. "I'm--"

But then she put her hands over her face and began to cry. "I didn't mean it, Percy, dear, I know you love us," she sobbed. "I'm just -- I can't even look at it. I haven't even glanced at it this week."

He walked over and put his arms around her, patting her back. It felt a little awkward. Not because of the physical affection, but because he had absolutely no idea how to comfort her.

"I resented her a little," she confessed after several minutes of silent hugging and crying. "Maybe more than a little. I just wanted her to come home, you see."

"I think we all did," Percy murmured.

"I had no idea," she said. "I just keep thinking -- what if she -- she didn't know? What if she thought it was really him?"

The dinner he'd eaten churned in his stomach, and he drew in a deep breath, reaching up and adjusting his glasses. It was a horrible thought. He didn't even want to imagine it. Didn't want to know how far Lucius Malfoy had taken his sickening masquerade. It seemed silly of him to want to believe that Ginny had always known their father wouldn't do that to her, but he couldn't help it.

"The clock--" he began.

She pulled away, mopping at her eyes. "It lies," she said flatly. "How can she possibly come back from that? If you don't want me to destroy it, then take it out of my sight."

Percy obeyed. Perhaps it was because of Ginny's experience, or his mother's complete hopelessness, or maybe even his own abandonment of the family, but he couldn't stand by and watch a Weasley family heirloom be destroyed.

--

--

**Author's Note:**

_Yes, another one. I've had some concerns expressed lately as to why I would write about a topic like rape. And I've also been asked if I've experienced this. The answer to the first question is that Ginny's experience is something that too many women (and men) suffer from. And while what happened to her is very brutal, it isn't excessively so. Even with, I think, the issue of the Polyjuice, as the statistics relating to how many young girls who are raped by their actual fathers are both shocking and heartbreaking. And why I chose to write about it? 1) Fiction shouldn't flinch away from real life issues. And 2) I don't really view this story as being about Ginny's rape, but it's more about her recovery from it, and her metamorphosis from victim to survivor. And no, I personally haven't ever been in this kind of situation, though my brother's wife suffered from it. _

_That being said, this chapter really ends Part I of the story. I'm not going to split it up and make Part II separate. And I will warn you that while it definitely gets brighter, it also gets darker, as the healing process will be such that she can't just ignore what happened to her and push it from her thoughts. Ye be warned. _


	15. Greet the Brand New Day

07 January 2002

Ron took a moment to gaze out at the orchard, gathering his thoughts. He and Fred and George had done a lot of damage to it on Christmas; half of the trees were simply gone, the ground was littered with the blackened remains. _Hermione is really rubbing off on me if I can see metaphors now,_ he thought.

But he couldn't deny the symbolism in half the orchard being dead because of winter, and half the orchard being destroyed. And while Ron didn't know if this represented his sister, his father, his best mate, or his entire family, the sight of it resonated with him.

_I didn't know about the Polyjuice. Not really. I'm sorry._

Harry's letter -- the first contact they'd had from him in years -- burned a hole in the pocket of his robes. Ron turned his back on the orchard and continued on to the Burrow, thoughts running through his head. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about it since it had arrived with a non-descript barn owl while Ron had been eating his eggs.

_I didn't know about the Polyjuice. Not really. I'm sorry._ What did that even mean? How was it that he'd "not really" known? Ron felt stupid for not guessing it, frankly; now that the truth had come out like Fiendfyre, he saw all the clues. Ginny's reluctance to even be in the same room as their dad. The way she wouldn't even look at him or talk to him. But Harry hadn't been around for all these clues. So how could he have "not really" known?

And what was he apologizing for? Was he just sorry in a general way (which was unnecessary, as his three year absence was like a gigantic, completely unneeded apology)? Or was he sorry that he hadn't known?

It was Hermione's fault. She'd laid out all of these possibilities for him. Before she'd analyzed it to death, Ron had been quite content with being both happy (that Harry had written) and sad (because of the reason).

Ron stopped short when he saw Dora Lupin -- looking mopey and depressed -- sitting at the kitchen table. She and his mum were quite the pair; both weren't saying much at all, and had their hands wrapped around their tea cups. He narrowed his eyes at them, not wanting to be insensitive, but... three days after Christmas he'd come across Dora sobbing and blaming the pregnancy hormones. And while Hermione assured him he'd come a long way (she'd given him a tablespoon for their first anniversary, and a saucer for their third Christmas -- he was hoping for a cup soon), he didn't want to be around the crying.

"Where's Dad?" he asked warily.

"Out by his shed, dear," his mother murmured. "Are you hungry? I could--"

"I'm fine," Ron lied. He was hungry -- breakfast had been almost three hours ago -- but he didn't want his mother to go to the trouble. "I was just -- I'll go find Dad." He waved at Dora while making his retreat and let the door slam shut.

_Two weeks._ It had been two weeks, and the burning rage was mostly gone (Azkaban had helped), and Ron was left feeling this hopeless sort of confusion. Why would they do that to her? What was the point? And those questions inevitably led to horrible thoughts, because if Lucius Malfoy had thought to use Polyjuice, what else had they thought of?

His mind wouldn't leave him alone, and hit on something particularly vile. Harry had been there at Malfoy Manor. What if they'd had him under the Imperius Curse? _What if, what if, what if._ And while he hated that Sennet bitch for threatening to write a tell-all book about Malfoy Manor, a part of him just wanted to know, because imagining the worst was more terrible than knowing.

Ron leaned his head up against the wall of the shed, wishing he could scourgify his brain. But it wouldn't let it alone. Ever since Ginny had finally told them a small part of what had been done to her, he couldn't help but try to think the way they had. They'd obviously tried to completely demolish her for reasons Ron just couldn't understand, and the only thing that could have been worse was if Harry had been forced to rape her.

"You might want to get out of the way."

His dad's voice cut through his thoughts.

"What?" Ron said blankly. He glanced around. His dad stood a small distance from the shed. He'd expected to find his dad in there, tinkering with his Muggle appliances, distracting himself from Ginny's words. Ron wasn't stupid. He knew that whatever mental anguish he had, his father had to be feeling it a thousand times worse.

"Step back, Ron," he said.

"But--"

"NOW!"

Ron obeyed, and just in time. The force of his father's Blasting Hex singed the back of his shirt and the hairs on his neck. Ron glanced over his shoulder just in time to watch the entire shed go up in flames. It lasted a few minutes. In that time his mother and Dora came out to watch. None of them said anything. The ravaged look on his dad's face told Ron that words couldn't do a damn thing.

"I've thought and thought about it," his father said quietly, watching the flames die. The Muggle things he loved were melting and destroyed. "I can't remember any single instance when they might have gotten my hair. Not one. And believe me, I've gone through every time I saw Lucius Malfoy that entire year. Every moment. I--"

"It wasn't your fault," Ron told him forcefully. "It really, really wasn't."

His father kept his eyes on the flaming shed. The acrid smell of burning plastic was in Ron's nostrils. And he hated that he'd gotten used to being completely helpless and unable to help someone who was hurting deeply. His dad made a convulsive gesture, and squeezed his eyes tightly closed. Ron had to turn away.

"I just -- I want her to know how sorry I am. Even if she never talks to me again. When she sees the shed. I hope she knows."

No one could offer any words of comfort. Ron felt especially helpless, and hated that. He didn't feel like his dad should blame himself, but he didn't want to begrudge Ginny any of her pain. It just seemed like everyone lost, and there was no way to turn it around.

"Harry wrote to me," he said suddenly, trying to change the subject. His father turned from the shed, eyebrows flying up. Ron took the letter out of his pocket and handed it to him. "I think he would have told us. I dunno, though. It's Harry. He could be apologizing that the Earth is round or that Hogwarts is in Scotland."

A small smile flickered over his father's face. "I wouldn't have blamed him, I don't think," he said slowly. "He was only seventeen."

Ron grimaced and scratched his forearm. His eyes were drawn to the flames again. One of the worst things about the entire situation was that he understood why Harry hadn't come back. Not fully. But Ginny's physical state had been pretty evident, and Ron could see why that would send Harry off the deep end. Never once had he blamed his best mate for what had happened to Ginny, but it was unavoidable that Harry would blame himself.

"How did he know?" his mother spoke up. "How did he know what happened over Christmas?"

"He overheard George telling Remus, I think," Dora said quietly. She was staring at the remnants of the shed and had her hand over her belly. "He must have. By the time I got back to the kitchen, he was gone."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

09 January 2002

Ginny sat in her dorm room staring at a blank piece of parchment. _Just write the damn letter,_ she told herself fiercely. Ever since her conversation with Harry, she knew that she really should. Really, really. She wanted the Erised vision, but -- her stomach gave a sickening twinge -- it was going to have to be her that made the first step.

But thinking about actually saying -- what? _I'm sorry I screamed at you_ was a bit of a lie; she wouldn't have screamed if he hadn't pushed her. She didn't even want to mention it, but how could she not? For years, she'd been able to ignore it or distract herself from it. Yes, it had always been there, just under the surface, but now it boiled and raged. And she couldn't even think about them without having being thrust into a memory--

_The Easter holidays had ended, and the last thing she really wanted was to go back to school (though she'd fought fiercely with her parents to allow her to return at all). Ginny sighed. The other students were tense and mostly silent -- except a pocket of Slytherin students who appeared to be completely at ease -- as they got off the train in Hogsmeade. Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood whispered quietly together, checking furtively for eavesdroppers. Ginny stayed several paces behind them, not wanting to intrude on the older students._

I wish they'd started up Defense Association again,_ she thought forlornly. They were the most likely, after all; but ever since she'd talked them into helping her steal Gryffindor's sword (it was _Harry's_ not Snape's!), and they'd gotten caught, she hadn't wanted to try to get them to do anything. _It could have been worse, though,_ she thought mutinously. _He only gave us detention with Hagrid.__

Hagrid. He was also gone. Not dead, thank God, but on the run. Ginny was going to miss having tea with him. He was pretty much her only source of outside information that she had about the Order of the Phoenix, as her parents and brothers would never write that kind of information in a letter, and Professor McGonagall did not invite confidences. Everything was just so different, including the fact that the Carrows no longer appeared to allow the carriages pulled by thestrals to carry the students to the castle. Or perhaps the thestrals had refused to work for the Death Eaters.

Ginny's pace slowed and she let a group of Slytherin's pass her. When Draco Malfoy looked back at her, an ugly little smile hovering over his lips, she walked even slower. The arse had been teasing her all year, asking her about Harry, and whether she knew her "boyfriend" had no chance, that she might as well weep for him now.

Arse,_ she thought, pulling her cloak tighter around her. She watched as he whispered something to his mates, the morons Crabbe and Goyle, dropping back from the crowd. Almost against her will, she glanced over her shoulder. There was quite a distance between herself and another large group behind her. One tall boy also walked alone, but his face was hidden by the shadows and she had no idea who he was._

"Stop, Ginny," she told herself quietly. She straightened her shoulders and kept her eyes on the lit path. The gates of Hogwarts were just barely visible. The hair on the back of her neck prickled when she realized Malfoy's two goons had left his side and were practically walking beside her. Just get to Hogwarts. Just make it through those gates.__

Footsteps behind her. The boy she didn't recognize was whistling a jaunty tune and gaining on her. Let it be someone from the Defense Association... Michael Corner or Terry Boot or someone else._ But paranoia, nurtured by her parents' fears for her safety and that of the rest of the family, especially Ron, reared its ugly head, and she couldn't help but notice that she was pretty much surrounded. And the distance was closing. A few seconds later, Ginny opened her mouth, ready to yell for someone and--_

"Ginevra!"

Ginny's head swiveled to the left. That was her dad's_ voice. Relief and terror swamped her at once. Malfoy wouldn't be able to carry out his plans, but... why was he here? Had something terrible happened in the hours she'd been gone? Or had her parents retracted their decision to allow her to go back to Hogwarts, and now they were all going into hiding?"_

"Dad?" she asked, frozen.

The flickering light from the floating torches fell on his face. "Come with me," he said, in a voice that allowed little in the way of argument.

Ginny stepped off the path. "Is it Harry?" she asked urgently. Her heart pounded in her chest. Let him be all right,_ she pleaded. _Let all of them be all right._ Despite the fact that her father was here, that whatever Malfoy had planned he couldn't do it, she was safe, she still glanced back at them. He didn't seem too disappointed by it; in fact, he looked quite gleeful._

Ask the security question,_ a small voice told her. She opened her mouth--_

"Yes, it's Harry," he said softly. "It's bad. Don't you want to be with him?"

The wording struck her as off and she took a half step backward. "What's your dearest ambition?" she asked. Say that you want to know how airplanes stay up,_ she told him. _Say it._ But instead of replying, instead of offering reassurance, he looked beyond her and gave a sharp nod._

And Ginny was shoved right into his arms. Her head snapped back and a breath later she screamed. HEAR ME!_ Confusion and fear whirled around inside her while she yelled her head off -- she could hear people walking by, now, she must've stepped right into a protective circle--_

"Too late," the man -- Ginny knew by now he wasn't her father -- whispered in her ear. And holding her in a painful grip, he whirled around, and Ginny thought his arms had tightened enough to make her feel as though she was about to pop. We've just Apparated,_ she realized dazedly. It hadn't just been his grip on her body, but he'd taken her away from Hogwarts, and she had no idea where she was..._

Fear broke over her. She had the impression of a large, ornately decorated room and a small crowd of people before she broke out of his grasp and tried to run. One step. Two steps. Three steps.

"Crucio!_"_

A spell slammed into her and she shrieked again, this time from pain, not fear. It sent her tumbling hard to the floor, panting.

"No need to be rude," said a high, cold voice. "My loyal servants went to no small amount of trouble to get you here."

Ginny raised her head and forced herself to stand. Five figures ranged in front of a hearth large enough to fit almost her entire family. Three of them were laughing at her. She knew who all of them were: Bellatrix Lestrange cackled, ravaged face almost inhuman; Fenrir Greyback chuckled, his eyes sweeping up and down her body in a way that made her feel naked; and her father's face and voice changed as she watched, red faded to pale blond. Lucius Malfoy. His wife didn't laugh, but stared coldly straight ahead.

And Lord Voldemort stared at her, head cocked, as though she was an interesting puzzle. And Ginny was almost too panicked to think. I'm bait,_ the thought thrummed through her veins. _He means to use me to get Harry here.__

"He's going to come rescue me," she said, trying to make her voice loud.

"Your father?" Mr. Malfoy said, voice still rich with laughter. "The pathetic Muggle-lover has no idea where you are. He didn't even have the sense to know when I was taking his hair from him." He twirled his wand in his hand while Ginny watched, not wanting to look at anything else. "He's weak--"

"My dad isn't weak!" she told him, though her knees literally knocked with fear. What if something had happened to her family since she'd left? How had Mr. Malfoy gotten the hair he'd needed for the Polyjuice? Keep your chin up. Harry isn't ever afraid._ And he'd met all these people before. He's escaped them. _I wish I still had my wand.__

But they were using her as bait for Harry, so she didn't need to fight all of them to get out on her own. He'd come and defeat Voldemort once and for all and she'd be fine. Maybe even a little proud that she helped him. This thought gave her the courage to look Lord Voldemort in the face. "He's going to beat you! Harry's going to defeat you again!"

Bellatrix Lestrange laughed again; the sound sent chills down her spine. "The poor little baby thinks she's bait," she said in a baby voice. Ice flooded Ginny's belly. They're going to kill me... but why? What's the point?__

"You're not the bait," said Lucius Malfoy. He'd stepped closer until he was much too close. Much, much too close. "You're the weapon."

Ginny jerked herself out of the memory, breathing heavily. She wanted to strangle that young, stupid girl for being so wrong about everything. For not walking with Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. For not asking the security question until her fate was already sealed. For thinking she'd be rescued right away (and not after seventy days), and for having no idea until it was much too late what being the weapon crafted to be used against Harry actually meant.

Her parchment had a few blotchy tear stains on it, so she got a new one. But she still couldn't force herself to say anything, so she drew her safety symbol, the lightning bolt, across the entire sheet and rolled it up. _That's the best I can do for right now,_ she told herself.

"Come on, Arnold," she said. The pygmy puff immediately perked up, giving her a look that was half full of hope and half full of despair. Despite the shaking, angry feeling that had suffused her limbs, it made her smile. "Yes, we're going to go see them. Yes, you have another chance to woo Calliope."

She grabbed her cloak and her Nimbus 2121 and headed straight for Harry's office. Glancing at her watch, she grimaced. She'd told him that she would be come around in an hour. What if he was busy and didn't want to see her? They couldn't spend every moment of every day together, after all.

_Don't be stupid,_ she gave herself a mental slap. _When has he ever not wanted to see you?_ After reminding herself -- sometimes she forgot, as it still seemed too good to be true -- that Harry was always pleased to see her, it got easier to walk toward him, and she was hardly nervous at all when she knocked on his office door. She even managed to throw a wave at Stuart Method, Elizabeth Barnett, and Aisling Powell, who were loitering in the corridor.

"Ginny!" he said.

"Hi," she said, relieved. Just the sight of him took away some of the jittery, nauseous feelings she had after her memory. "I was wondering... do you want to go flying with me?"

His gaze sharpened, and Ginny knew what he was thinking. She'd told him two days before (on the first day of her period) that it was a bit too cold to be flying, even with a charm. He hadn't questioned her mild lie (though Ginny knew he hadn't believed her fully), but Ginny could practically see him forcing himself not to ask her what was going on.

_Maybe I should drop my bag and bend over to pick it up,_ she thought wildly, before castigating herself for it. It was true that Harry was distracted whenever he noticed her bum, but Ginny had done it purposefully three times already (she liked seeing the look on his face), and she felt bad for doing it. But she didn't want him to press her for--

"All right," he said finally, interrupting her thoughts. "Let me grab my broom. It's in my sitting room."

An hour later, Ginny felt closer to normal. _It's the looming,_ she admitted as she landed. The Death Eaters had loomed around her. And even now they were all dead and gone, it was like they were still there sometimes. Arnold helped her ignore that feeling, and Harry's kisses sometimes made it disappear completely for hours. Her family had likewise been able to distract her over the years. But they always came back.

Harry didn't say much at all as they walked back up to the castle. This strangely made Ginny want to tell him everything. She even opened her mouth several times to speak, but as soon as she did, the words twisted up inside of her. "I wrote to my family," she finally forced out, just as they were nearing the doors.

"I'm glad," he said.

"It -- I mean -- just my safety symbol," Ginny continued lamely. "Not like a real letter. Just -- just to let them know I'm safe." Professor McGonagall was keeping her family informed, Ginny knew, but still. His fingers gently brushed against her back; she was relieved that he didn't find her gesture pathetic or too small.

He remained very quiet until they returned to his office to retrieve the pygmy puffs, though Ginny sensed that he wanted to say something. A little ball of anxiety grew in her stomach the longer the silence stretched, though she would have hated it even more if he said anything about it in public.

"I don't like that bloke," Harry said suddenly, breaking into her thoughts. Ginny turned to look. Pollux Sennet stood in a circle of friends, and just the sight of him made her want to hex him and run away at the same time. She turned away before he noticed her staring.

"I don't either," she said as they turned the corner.

"He doesn't bother you, does he?" Harry asked sharply.

"No," Ginny said. "Not really." _He shouldn't bother me. He's just an arse. He wouldn't bother anyone else._ He hadn't done anything outward for a while, not since it was made clear that she and Harry were friends.

"Tell me if he does," he said.

Ginny was about to ask him what he would do, but the knowledge that if Sennet did something truly awful, Harry wouldn't stop at anything to help her, stilled her tongue. But he also treated her like an equal, too, which was like a balm to her. He didn't push her, but he didn't want to lock her away. He was going to let her help with taking care of the book, and even though she saw the grimace on his face, he didn't push her into admitting that Pollux Sennet bothered her.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Ginny retrieved Arnold from her bag and cuddled him to her ear. The familiar snuffling noise as he rooted through her hair -- his lovesick ways didn't make him completely unfamiliar -- calmed her anxiety a bit. "Do you think I should have written more? Or mentioned -- mentioned -- told them--"

Harry waited until she fell silent. _Damn it,_ she thought.

"Mentioned Christmas?" he asked finally, to her relief. She nodded wordlessly. He ruffled his hair and then rubbed his scar, sure signs that he was thinking carefully about his answer. "I don't know, Gin. I don't -- I would never want to tell you what you should do or shouldn't or anything like that."

"I know," she said. This was one of the reasons why she loved him so much. And she had to admit that she wished that he'd offer his opinion just a little bit more, as she wanted to offer hers. Their relationship was pretty even on the giving and taking. She stroked Arnold lightly with her finger. "I do respect your opinion, though."

"I dunno," he said. "I think maybe you should mention it at some point, but... why does it have to be right away?"

"Because I -- I feel like -- guilty," she admitted. And she did. She kept seeing her father's face -- and the others -- and knew that she'd unloaded something awful on them and done a runner. This made her feel like a coward, but a large part of her -- the part that couldn't escape the memories -- still chanted at her to stay away from them.

"You don't have to protect them anymore, though," he said. "For better or worse, it came out, and I don't think they'd begrudge you for taking time to let it process."

_Protecting them?_ That was a funny way of putting it. Ginny let his words sink in while she played with Arnold, who kept trying to escape to get to Calliope. The other pygmy puff was poking her head out of Harry's robes and eyeing Arnold warily. It was true that she didn't have to say anything about Christmas right away. She had time, and if the last three and a half years had taught her anything, it was that her family was extremely patient with her.

"I want to do it," she said.

"You will, then," he said, shrugging, as though he really did believe that she could rebuild the bridges she'd blasted away with the truth. She felt very warm, and wasn't sure if this was due to her proximity to him or if it was his complete faith in her. Most likely a mixture of both.

His lips seemed particularly enticing all of a sudden. And Ginny felt a bit bad, but the desire to talk about her family receded swiftly. "Can we get to the kissing now?" she blurted out, flushing.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

11 January 2002

_I've been waiting almost four bloody years to tell you it wasn't your fault, you moron._

Harry sat on the end of his bed, staring down at Ron's letter, not knowing what the hell to think. He shouldn't have been surprised to see a reply, though having Remus' owl, Orion, slam into his window at six in the morning had been like a bucket of cold water. It had taken him several minutes to even open it. And he'd felt like a girl, but it had really slammed into him how much he missed Ron and Hermione the moment he saw the familiar, untidy scrawl.

The sarcasm was just as familiar, as well as the sentiment. He could almost feel Ron cuffing him on the shoulder and telling him to pull his head out of his arse. And Hermione would be right beside him listing all the reasons why Harry shouldn't blame himself.

And that was the problem.

Harry already felt like he and Ginny were on their way to talking about what had happened. It was inevitable, really. But he was dreading it. What if she just didn't remember that she'd been taken to be used as a weapon against him? He didn't quite understand why she trusted him of all people, but he was afraid that she'd come to her senses.

"I'm a mess," he said out loud to the empty room. It was just... getting Ron's letter directly after having a particularly bad nightmare made his stomach lurch sickeningly. Everything felt so fragile. Not his feelings for her, of course. But he was afraid that Ginny was going to wake up one day and realize that she was the one who had paid the price, when it should have been him. She'd been hand-chosen by Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy (with the help of Draco) and had been brutalized because of him. He didn't want to remind her of this.

Calliope chose that moment to pop up and down, squeaking madly. Harry had never been more relieved to be jerked out of his thoughts, and he watched her roll around happily. He didn't much enjoy these thoughts, and generally tried to avoid them as much as he could.

Harry would much rather think about the fact that even though they'd only been together for less than two weeks, he already knew lots of things about her. For someone who did not much like to be touched, she was very affectionate with him. She liked to stroke his hair, and she let him thread his fingers through hers whenever he wanted, and never complained that it got mussed. It had become natural for the both of them to hold hands (which made walking through the halls and not holding hands a bit hard). And she wrapped her arms around him when he kissed her, and even though this made it quite difficult for him to hide his arousal from her (and required acrobatic feats made even more challenging because he had to be stealthy about it), he appreciated the contact.

Even more importantly, he learned what she didn't like. There was a very precise spot on the back of her neck that made her freeze up if he touched it. Above it, below it, and to the side of it was fine. But there was a little circle of flesh that was simply off limits. This combined with the repulsed, hurting look that flashed over her face made him avoid it at all costs. She didn't like to be tickled (though seemed to have no qualms about tickling him), and her left foot was especially sensitive.

By the time he had finished cataloguing her likes and dislikes, Harry felt better. Not quite ready to reply to Ron's letter, but enough to know that he would. He glanced at Orion warily. Eventually.

He thought about it for the rest of the day. And even though he felt slightly guilty for being absent-minded in class, he couldn't help it. _They'll get over it,_ Harry thought darkly as he was forced to take Benjamin Corner up to the hospital wing yet again. It was the seventh time, and Harry felt extremely bad for the boy's parents.

But besides that one small mishap ("Everything will come back, don't worry," Madam Pomfrey had assured both of them), the rest of the day passed smoothly despite his lack of attention.

"I hear you had an interesting day," Ginny remarked as she breezed through his door, fresh from Quidditch practice. Arnold warbled a brief greeting, huge eyes immediately searching for Calliope. Harry didn't have the heart to tell the pygmy puff that the love of his life was now hiding under the sofa.

"It wasn't that interesting," Harry said defensively. He knew she meant Ben Corner's accident, but really. The boy practically had his own bed in the hospital wing. As soon as the door was shut behind her, he distracted her by kissing her thoroughly. He even did something new and tilted her head a bit to kiss her neck, grinning against her smooth skin when she sucked in a breath.

"Now is it interesting?" she smiled at him when he pulled away.

"Very," he said smugly. _She likes it when I kiss her neck,_ he added to his list of things that made her happy. "And... I know a way to make things even more interesting," he added, wiggling his eyebrows.

"You're on," she said immediately. "Though don't think you've got the skill to beat me."

"Oh?" he said. "I've been practicing my technique, I'll have you know."

"In the last day?" she said dubiously.

Harry summoned the cards, prepared for her to kick his arse at Exploding Snap yet again. For a game that was won largely due to luck, he was pathetic at it compared to her. But it was worth seeing the competitive light in her eyes, and she generally consoled him after he lost with several kisses. _Besides,_ he told himself. _She's the sister of Fred and George. Exploding things must like her._

"What are you smiling about?" she asked suddenly.

"The fact that I'm going to beat you," Harry lied easily.

"Dream on, Potter," she rolled her eyes, sitting down gracefully and pushing back her sleeves.

Later that evening, after she'd left, and Harry had never mentioned that he'd corresponded with her brother, he stared out the window. Orion was winging his way to Ron and Hermione with his short answer that didn't say anything he really wanted to say. Just a simple: _Thanks, Ron._ But he felt like his relationship with Ginny might be either solid as a rock or a house made out of exploding cards. And he didn't want to find out for sure which one it was.


	16. Cry for a Shadow

**Author's Note:**

_Sorry I've been slow(er) with the updates... I had a baby a week ago. For those who are interested, her name is Clara, and she's pretty much the most beautiful baby ever._

13 January 2002 – 26 January 2002

Maintaining a relationship with a student was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced. On the one hand, it was almost impossible to stand near Ginny and not want to hold her hand or kiss her or just stand a bit too close and stare too intensely. It made morning classes interesting. Three times already, Harry had had to pull her into his office directly after class and then snog her senseless. On the other hand, it made him hyper aware of what he was doing.

"You've become a better teacher," Ginny observed one evening when they were finally alone.

"It's because I've been forcing myself not to let everyone in on our secret," Harry admitted. "I think I've gone a bit overboard with pretending to be just your professor."

She laughed – _thirty two_ -- and grabbed a broom polishing kit. Harry threw himself down on the sofa; Calliope immediately popped up and escaped into the collar of his robes. "Sorry, mate," he told Arnold regretfully. The little purple pygmy puff sighed dejectedly, looking toward Calliope's lump with a heartbroken look in his big eyes. "Maybe she'll give you a chance."

"It's too bad Hermione isn't here," said Ginny. Her Nimbus 2121 was in her lap, and she diligently brushed the twigs and plucking stray bent pieces. _I should take better care of my Firebolt,_ Harry thought as he watched. But he was feeling pretty lazy – he'd been cornered by Stuart Method, Aisling Powell, and Elizabeth Barnett which had taken up a lot of his energy – and going into the other room to retrieve his broom and kit was too much like work.

"Why is that?" he asked belatedly.

"I'm sure she'd have all sorts of advice for him," she said. She continued to make slow, even strokes with the brush. Harry's eyes fell halfway closed. "She helped George finally connect with Angelina, you know." Ginny grabbed a cloth out of her kit and rubbed the handle. "Sat him down, gave him a stern talking to. He marched right out and got her. And she set Percy up with Audrey."

"That's good," Harry said. He couldn't take his eyes off her hands, and he didn't even feel that familiar mixture of grief and guilt whenever Hermione or Ron was mentioned. It did strike him as funny that Hermione's rather large intellect was being put to use to finding girlfriends for the Weasley brothers, though. But somehow fitting. "She always did know how to translate girls," he admitted.

"Maybe Arnold should have a little chat with her," said Ginny. She was very distracted by her task.

Harry shifted a little on the sofa, glad that he was wearing robes and not something that would reveal the fact that watching her polish her broom was extremely erotic. _But how could it not be?_ he mused. Her hand rounded the head again and again. She was biting her lip in concentration, and every once in a while her tongue would dart out and lick her lips.

He had to admit that it was becoming increasingly difficult not to hope for more. His showers and morning routine (and evening routine, on a particularly "bad" day) were increasingly lonely, but a sexual relationship seemed like almost too much to hope for. It was already a miracle enough that she fancied him and let him kiss her. If they were to go any further, it really would seem like something out of someone else's life.

Still. He couldn't help but notice how firmly she gripped the handle, and how certain her movements were. Her arm didn't tire. _Back and forth._ It was both painful and exhilarating to watch.

There were several of these moments over the next two weeks, and Harry both anticipated and dreaded these occasions. Anticipated because a thrill coursed through him whenever she bent over and her bum was outlined clearly, or when she stretched and her breasts bounced a tiny bit, or any number of things. And he dreaded it because it was taking almost all of his self-control to not do anything to frighten her.

That self-control was rapidly deteriorating. He could feel it slipping away with every kiss and every time she did something like polish her broom in front of him. Or stare off into space, fingering her wand. Sometimes she even breathed in such a way that turned him on. Slow, deep, and even breaths that somehow stole the oxygen out of the room, though Harry could not figure out why…

_At least I have a distraction,_ Harry thought toward the end of January. Remus' owl Orion had just arrived with another letter from Ron. It was the third. Granted, the correspondence had so far consisted of less than twenty sentences, but other than his talks with Ginny, it was the most significant conversation he'd had in years.

After he'd expressed his gratitude to Ron, Ron had written: _Don't be stupid. I've got less of a tolerance for it after spending so much time with Hermione._ And because he didn't want to just not reply (and looked forward to seeing Remus' owl a great deal), he'd done what Ron meant him to do. _Tell Hermione I said hello._ He'd half feared that he would receive a reply that took up several rolls of parchment filled with questions he wasn't prepared to answer.

_Hermione says hello, and to tell you to come home. Oh, and it's really funny that you're actually contacting us again (a good thing) when some weird kid at Hogwarts wrote us a letter asking us all sorts of things about the "Real Harry Potter". Not that we haven't gotten those kinds of letters before, but usually from some journalist. I think you might just be in the curriculum now. Still famous._

As soon as he read the first sentence, Harry felt a pang of homesickness so strong that he wanted to march right out of the Great Hall where he sat eating his breakfast and Apparate to them. It made it worse that he was actually sitting at Hogwarts, and Gryffindor table was visible, and crowded with students. His eyes unfocused and he could see himself sitting beside them. And Neville Longbottom would be there; he heard the echo of Luna Lovegood's Gryffindor lion hat.

"Are you all right?" McGonagall asked.

Harry was jerked out of his thoughts. "I'm fine," he said automatically, feeling a twinge of annoyance. People still insisted on asking him that.

"He's just fine," Hagrid added, huge hand grabbing at a full platter of bacon. McGonagall gave the half giant a reproving look. "Been meaning to ask ye if ye wanted to come down tonight an'—"

"Can we come _after_ dinner?" Harry interrupted, not wanting to decline the invitation, but also didn't want to eat Hagrid's cooking. He knew from experience that a Friday night at Hagrid's was a lot better when food was not involved.

Luckily, Hagrid did not find this insulting. "Of course," he said. "Ye can always come a bit later. Ain't nothing to worry about after dark," he gave Harry a pointed look, which he ignored.

Harry was just about to suggest that he get Kreacher to prepare them dinner, when he caught sight of Sybill Trelawney meandering up the center aisle. He'd only caught small glimpses of her apart from the time she spoke to him and he'd practically run her down to get away from her. This time, he didn't feel like running away, but grief and rage bubbled in his stomach. Perhaps it was unfair, but everything about her reminded him of why he couldn't possibly talk to Ron and Hermione, and why he kept waiting for Ginny to come to her senses.

_Maybe I do feel like running,_ he thought, rising to his feet. "I'll see you later, Hagrid," he murmured. "We'll be down around seven."

He simply couldn't put the damned prophecy out of his mind whenever he saw Trelawney. And angry thoughts followed him all the way from the Great Hall and stayed with him through his classes (for once, he wasn't distracted by just Ginny, but being in love with her made his darker thoughts even worse).

_It was your fault. She was tortured to be a weapon against you._

_Everything comes back to the prophecy. It was fulfilled because of her, and what was done to her._

He blamed Trelawney. He knew that she hadn't been able to help herself, not really, but had she not spoken the prophecy, he couldn't help but think that it wouldn't have played out the way it had.

Blame and guilt and anger chased each other until by the time Ginny finished with Quidditch practice and met him in his rooms, Harry was almost too exhausted to want to go. But the sight of her brightened his day in that inexplicable way she had. _I have really got it bad,_ Harry thought, when he found himself smiling. Not all the shadows had been dispelled, of course. He was always aware of how tenuous their relationship was, but it was easier to ignore when she was there.

"Hi," he said, after she gave him a lingering kiss.

"Did you still want to go to Hagrid's?" she asked. Harry was momentarily distracted when Arnold took a flying leap from Ginny's arms onto the bottom of his shirt and clinging to it with his sharp claws. "Whoa," he said. "Hi, Arnold." He couldn't help but feel that Calliope was lucky she'd decided to take an evening nap in the center of his bed.

Ginny shook her head, grinning a little. "He needs Hermione."

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he'd heard from her today by way of a letter from Ron, but then he remembered that he hadn't actually told her yet that he'd started up a correspondence with him again. Harry didn't quite know why he hadn't told her, except that he was afraid it would open up the topic they had skirted but not mentioned fully.

"Let's go," he said suddenly.

Ron's letter seemed to burn a hole in his pocket all the way down to Hagrid's. _Come home._ He wanted to tell Ginny about Ron and wanting to do as Hermione asked. _And I will tell her,_ he thought. But it seemed exceedingly public on the walk down. It was dark, yes, but they were outside. And exposed. And he was afraid that if he opened his mouth and told her about Ron, _everything_ would come spilling out.

"You seem quiet tonight," Ginny observed. Her cloak trailed in the snow that had not yet been cleared from the path, making a swishing sound as it was dragged through.

Harry pointed the Elder Wand and cleared the next ten feet for her. "It's been a long week," he said carefully. Every few feet, he repeated the spell, until she was in little danger of getting her cloak dirty or wet.

"We don't have to stay," she pointed out.

He shrugged. "It's fine. It's been a while since we've spent a lot of time with him." And Harry had a feeling that he would feel tense and anxious no matter where he was. _Besides, Hagrid might be a distraction._

His hopes died a quick death.

It was like the correspondence with Ron had blasted away a section of a dam, and memories like water were flowing over him with painful clarity. He could pinpoint the exact spot where Ron had been sitting when he'd belched slugs. And he remembered vividly hiding beneath his cloak with the two of them, while Umbridge searched the hut for anything suspicious. Ron and Hermione were such clear images in his thoughts that he kept expecting one of them to speak.

That wasn't to say that he didn't want to be there with Ginny. Not at all. He just wanted them there, too. But not after the fucking prophecy. Before. A mixture of the way it used to be and the way it was now.

"Ye want some mead, Harry?" Hagrid broke into his thoughts. His beady black eyes seemed to tell Harry that he understood. He glanced at Ginny out the corner of his eye.

"Yeah," he said. _Why not drink?_ "I'd like that. Thanks, Hagrid."

"I'd like some too," Ginny said.

Harry was both surprised and not surprised that the alcohol served to warm his stomach and force some of the anxiety away. His first experience with firewhiskey after Mad-Eye Moody's death had taught him that it could have a numbing effect. So when Hagrid offered another glass, and then a third, Harry didn't refuse.

The more he drank, the more his eyes strayed to Ginny. The firelight flickered over her hair, making the color even more vivid. Harry watched her smile and talk, and it made him happier, until he was fully in the moment. Ron and Hermione faded away into the shadows of his mind.

The hours seemed to fly by, and it was with no small amount of surprise that Harry realized it was after eleven. "We really should go," he said reluctantly.

Hagrid waved a large hand. He had had quite a lot to drink, Harry noted with amusement. "Ye should stay. Just a little while longer."

"It's after eleven," Harry told him.

His eyes popped open. "Blimey! It still feels like eight."

Ginny giggled -- _thirty six_ -- and stood up. "We'll come back soon, though," she promised.

"Ye better," said Hagrid.

Harry said his goodbye and left the hut, breathing deeply. It was cold, but not too cold. It even felt good after the warmth of inside. He tipped his head back and glanced up at the stars. The loneliness and anxiety he'd felt throughout the day had been muted by evening.

"Feeling better?" Ginny asked.

He nodded and looked down at her. "Yeah, I had a good time."

"I did too," she replied. "The mead helped."

"We should definitely do this again," said Harry.

He couldn't help but notice that Ginny looked particularly beautiful as they made their way up the hill toward the castle. _Be careful,_ a small voice warned. _You are out where people might be able to see._ He ignored it and grabbed her hand. It was very dark, and even if someone came upon them, the shadows would make it difficult to tell that they were holding hands.

"I asked Hermione for advice about you," she said suddenly. "It was over Christmas. Relationship advice."

"You did?" Harry asked, surprised and pleased. Her smile was both shy and sly all at once. A bolt of heat went straight to his groin. It was pretty obvious that he was going to have to kiss her. _It's dark,_ he told himself. _And no one is around._ For some inexplicable reason, the path from Hagrid's hut back to Hogwarts suddenly seemed very private. Secluded, even.

"Mm hmm," she said, looking down at their joined hands and stroking his palm. "I was – well, I was hoping that you might fancy me. I didn't tell her it was you, of course," she hurried to add. "But she told me there were ways to check—"

"Ways to check?" Harry said faintly.

"Well," Ginny said. He suspected she was blushing, though he couldn't tell. "You know."

Harry didn't have a clue. His mind zoomed into overdrive. What exactly were these ways? Were they sexual in nature? And why didn't it surprise him that Hermione could offer advice on how to torture blokes? She seemed like the type to know._Poor Ron_. Was Ginny still checking to make sure he fancied her? Was that what the broom polishing was about? And did she know what happened when he caught sight of her bum? Did she—

"But then I didn't really need it," she said, smiling up at him. "I just sort of kissed you, and that – well, it took the question away."

Visions of Ginny deliberately torturing him imploded in his mind, leaving him vaguely disappointed and yet a bit relieved._Mostly disappointed,_ Harry admitted to himself. The relief stemmed from the fact that had she been doing it on purpose, he might have exploded, and wouldn't that have led to awkward questions?

"I hope you don't mind," she said, perhaps misinterpreting his silence.

"I don't," he told her honestly. "Not at all. I – well, I like it, actually." It was the truth. He liked that her kissing him hadn't been a spur of the moment thing brought on by seeing him in the Mirror of Erised. Not that that was a bad thing. But he was glad that he wasn't alone in his feelings.

"Good," she said.

Harry threw caution to the wind and tugged her toward him. "I like that you wanted me to fancy you," he told her. "I wanted you to fancy me." Though he'd been certain to keep his groin from making physical contact, it was quite enough that he could feel the swell of her breasts against him. _This might be the night she kills me,_ Harry thought blissfully. And then he kissed her.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

26 January 2002 – 27 January 2002

It must have been the small amount of mead Hagrid had given them, but Harry's mouth on hers drove away the January chill and seemed far more intense than usual. His hand lingered on the small of her back, just above the swell of her bum. Fingers brushed lightly back and forth in a casually insistent way that distracted Ginny from his kiss. He drew back slightly until their lips just barely brushed. And then, after a quivering moment, he shifted his focus and trailed kisses from the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, and finally located the sensitive spot just below her ear, and at the same time trailed his hand up her spine.

It was as though he lit her on fire.

Ginny's eyes popped wide open, her back arched, and her blood thundered through her veins. Harry shifted his body just a bit, and the movement against the tips of her breasts made Ginny realize her nipples were hard. It was just like the dreams she'd been having, but the sensation of arousal was heightened, and every point at which their bodies touched tingled. She closed her eyes again and imitated his touch, brushing her fingertips along the curve of his back.

"Ginny," he whispered. His mouth found its way back to hers, and he kissed her until she was weak in the knees. And then he began to pull back, the intensity faded a bit, and clarity began to return.

Still. Several minutes after he eased away, and Ginny was still trembling a little and pretty dizzy. She realized that this wasn't the first time that he'd aroused her. It had happened before they'd even kissed, when the air around them had been thick with the desire to take things beyond friendship. But this was different, somehow. Up until then, she'd been more than satisfied with snogging, but tonight her body had wanted him to touch her breasts and maybe even ease the pressure between her thighs.

_Wow,_ she thought dazedly.

"We'd better go back to the castle," Harry said. He had his back to her and appeared to have some difficulty speaking. Ginny forced herself to focus on something other than the desire flowing through her body.

"Right," she said, proud that her voice was steady. "Yes. We should get back to the castle." They were already playing with fire by staying out so late with Hagrid, drinking a bit with him, and then kissing fiercely where it was possible they might be seen. "Definitely. Let's go back."

He gave her an odd, distracted look but didn't point out that she was acting strange, for which she was very grateful. And they walked in silence, for the most part, and gradually Ginny went back to normal. Though it seemed like he could bring desire blazing back if he exerted the smallest effort.

A small part of her was frustrated and cranky that he stopped, but the rest of her was a little confused and wary. How far would they have gone? What was the next step? Did Harry even _want_ to go further? She skimmed the surface of her thoughts, sensing darkness, and focused only on how this might change their relationship, and not on anything else.

_And what if things do progress?_ Images flashed through Ginny's mind with Harry above her, slamming into her, it would_hurt_, and—

_Arnold and Calliope,_ she told herself. _Think about them._ And she did until the panicked feeling receded. _They really are cute,_ she thought. She was secretly rooting for Arnold to win Calliope over, as it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to live with a lovesick pygmy puff. Not that she didn't love him anyway, but she knew he'd be happier and back to his old self if Calliope would just give him a chance.

"I think I'd better let you go here," he said quietly, regretfully. Ginny realized with a jolt that they'd managed to get from almost Hagrid's hut to the bottom of the stairs inside the Entrance Hall without her even noticing. Hopefully he would attribute her reaction to the fact that a Slytherin girl and a Ravenclaw boy were talking quietly in the shadows. They weren't alone, after all.

"That's all right," she murmured.

They parted ways with nothing more than a tender glance, and Ginny climbed up to Gryffindor Tower with thoughts of Arnold and Hagrid and everything safe buzzing through her head. Her evening routine was done automatically, and the warm feeling in her stomach that the alcohol had given her lulled her quickly to sleep.

Voices woke her the next morning, and Ginny blinked her eyes open. _How come I can hear Demelza and Emma?_ she asked herself, disoriented. She never forgot the privacy charms around her partitioned section of the dorm.

"—were out late last night," Emma Dobbs said. Her voice sounded a bit wicked. "With Jeremy?" she asked in a sing-song voice.

"So what if I was?" Demelza asked.

It disturbed Ginny to realize that she had not – for the first time since she'd come back to Hogwarts – placed privacy charms around at least her bed. She was always afraid that she'd cry out in the middle of a nightmare (_And maybe even a dream about Harry,_ Ginny had to admit), and the fact that if she could hear them, they could hear her made her feel very exposed.

"I'll bet you were," Emma said dryly, replying to a comment of Demelza's that Ginny had missed.

Ginny couldn't help but remember that just a few months ago, she'd also been listening to Emma and Demelza talking about things of a sexual nature. _Here I am again,_ she thought. But it was entirely different, especially given that just the previous night, she'd been thinking about it in ways she never had before. Well, maybe before Malfoy Manor, but the memories were hazy, and she doubted she'd gotten very explicit in her fantasies about Harry. Nor did she think that she'd ever been _that_ excited.

"We haven't done _it_, yet," Demelza giggled nervously. "But…"

"But you've played with his wand?" Emma prompted. "Caused it to shoot off sparks?"

"_Emma!_" Demelza choked out. But then she chuckled. "It didn't shoot off _sparks_…"

Ginny decided that she'd learned enough about their sex life, grabbed her wand from the nightstand (jostling poor Arnold, who let out a pitiful squeak), and erected the privacy charms once more.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

29 January 2002 – 31 January 2002

By the time Ginny was done with Quidditch practice the following Monday night, Harry had already written seventeen different versions of a note to Ron. _And I still don't know what the hell to say,_ he thought glumly. A soft knock on the door was a very welcome distraction.

"Come in," he said, banishing the evidence of his correspondence, and waving the Elder Wand to unlock the door.

Ginny stumped in looking very irritable. "Finch is a moron," she announced. It came out as a snarl.

"Before you tell me why, let me teach you how to unlock my rooms," Harry said, unfolding himself and standing up. It really wasn't a hardship for him to unlock the door for her, but it seemed like something she should be able to do for herself.

"Unlock your rooms?" she halted, looking uncertain.

"Yeah," he said. "So you can get in here when you need to. It's pretty simple…"

It took Ginny only three tries to get the movement right, and by the time she did, some of the tightness in her expression disappeared. Not completely. Now that he looked at her more closely, he noticed that she was pale, as though she might not be feeling well.

Or had a nightmare.

"Do you—"

She interrupted him with a kiss, and all thoughts of going flying simply melted out of his head. It was an intense kiss, much like the one they had shared after Hagrid's and the mead. Her tongue was in his mouth and their teeth clicked together before he could really process what was happening. But he certainly wasn't going to stop her.

Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, and automatically positioned himself so that he wouldn't give anything away. And then he responded with all the passion that she gave him. Ginny's hands were restless and fisted in his robes, gripped his shoulders, and traveled up to stroke his hair. _This is strange,_ he thought vaguely. But he ignored it in favor of continuing to kiss her.

Before he was even aware of it, one hand had traveled up to muss her hair, and the other was at the small of her back. And suddenly he was more focused on the her bum being less than an inch away from his fingertips than what her lips and tongue were doing to his. He dipped it just a little further until he could feel the swell—

In a move that could only be described as purposeful, Ginny went to her tiptoes and arched up until, with the combined efforts of the two of them, his hand firmly cupped her bum. Harry pulled away a little, and rested his forehead against hers. Ginny was breathing as heavily as he was, and holding him quite tightly.

"This is all right?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she answered shakily, and pressed her lips to his again.

Harry rapidly got used to focusing on several different things at once. His lips on hers. Her firm bum beneath his hand. He stroked it lightly and she arched her back again, and her breasts pressed against his chest in such a way that his lungs felt tight.

_Stop._

Harry obeyed the impulse, knowing that if he didn't stop, it would eventually lead to him exploding from the pressure of holding back. And he had to hold back. She'd let him touch her bum, yes, but there was a large distance between that and anything further.

His body was very angry with him. _Would she notice if I escaped to the loo?_ Harry thought dazedly. _Of course she'd notice… but she wouldn't know why…_ Slowly – very slowly – he began to calm down. His breathing was less harsh, and his heart no longer threatened to leap out of his chest.

By the time he looked at her again, she was sitting cross-legged on the ground, trying to get Calliope to come out from under the sofa. Arnold peeked around her leg, looking hopeful and resigned all at once. The rest of the evening was spent quietly and ended earlier than normal.

_She must be tired from the practice,_ Harry thought. She'd spent a good amount of time after the kiss explaining to him how moronic the Quidditch captain was. But even though she had helped initiate the bum touching, Harry couldn't help but think that it had disturbed her in some way. Not in any overt way, but…

The unsettled, wary feeling persisted into the next morning and grew into outright worry when she wasn't in class. _She might just be sick,_ he told himself periodically throughout the day. _You're just being paranoid._ But no matter what bracing words his mind came up with, Harry's stomach felt like it was perpetually sinking. _Stop. Everything is perfectly fine._

But that was a lie, and he knew it, though he didn't know why.

Alarm bells began going off in his head when he saw her the next day. The skin under her eyes looked bruised, and he saw that her fingers trembled when she held her wand. And not once did she meet his eyes. It was difficult to be around her in class, but not in that pleasant way, but because he wanted to make sure she was all right, and knew he couldn't in front of the other students.

He couldn't quite believe that she packed up her bag and made to leave when all the other students did. Irritation slashed through him, and without thinking, he used magic to split her bag open. Again. She'd told him that he didn't have to do that if he wanted to talk to her, but she hadn't even given him a chance to try.

Everyone filed out, and she hurried to put everything back in, not even bothering to be careful. Or to hide the fact that she was trying to escape him. Her hands still shook, and Harry didn't want to push her, but he couldn't think of what else to do.

He reached out to touch her elbow. "Ginny—"

She recoiled, and it was like a blow to the kidneys. "_Don't!_" she hissed.

Harry rocked back on his heels with shock. _No, please don't._ But his mind hadn't manufactured her flinch, nor had he conjured up the look of disgust that followed. And he didn't even know how to react, and he let her turn her back on him and walk right out of the room.


	17. Good Day Sunshine

30 January 2002 – 04 February 2002

Ginny finally fell asleep sometime after midnight, mind still racing. Kissing Harry had been even more exciting, and it had taken hours for the feeling of his hand on her bum to fade. And during the kiss, she'd felt such blissful oblivion that she'd been able to forget that Pollux Sennet had been giving her strange looks, and she'd heard some of his Slytherin friends whispering about a book and staring in her direction.

Added to the fact that she wasn't sure if her desire for Harry was all right, she felt like all sorts of things were pressing down on her. Her body was aroused, but it also remembered how painful sex was, and alternated between wanting and cringing.

Despite the restlessness, however, Ginny was finally able to drift into anxious dreams. She wandered from one to another; in most of them, she was searching for something while the walls whispered to her. She felt a rising sense of urgency, but never found what she was looking for.

But the confusing images and patterns shifted into what had now become familiar. And welcome. She was surrounded by darkness and Harry's familiar weight was next to her on the bed. He leaned over her, nudging her thighs apart and placing pressure just where it felt the best. His other hand snaked around and cupped her bum.

She lifted her hips and rocked against his hand. And for the first time, she meant to lift her arms and touch him too, but as soon as she tried, her wrists were caught—

And suddenly she wasn't in a bed, but on the table to which she was shackled. Pain quickly replaced pleasure. And it was Lucius Malfoy, not Harry. _No._

"Ginevra," he grunted.

"NO!" she cried out. "No, no, no, no." The force of her panic sent her eyes flying open. For long minutes she had no clue where she was; how was it possible that she wasn't at Malfoy Manor?

A pillow was stuffed between her thighs. Her muscles trembled and she clawed at it, trying to get it away from her.

Ginny leaned over the edge of the bed, eyes stinging, and holding her hand up to her mouth to prevent herself from vomiting. Her stomach heaved, and overwhelming disgust for the betrayal of her own body and her own mind filled her. What was _wrong_ with her?

_How can I look Harry in the eye again after this?_

She couldn't. It was painful to even be in his classroom, and thinking that she'd destroyed everything. Her mind kept flashing to her dream. And she felt trapped by it, horrified, and when Harry tried to touch her and talk to her after class, she ran away.

By Friday, Ginny was about to explode. Anger with herself and at the situation appeared to be at war with her confusion and disturbance. Harry avoided her eyes as much as she avoided his, and she could tell that he felt just as awful as she did. And she wanted to tell him that it wasn't him, it was her. She'd ruined everything by being broken.

After another night of little sleep, Ginny swallowed her pride and sought out magical means of getting some rest.

"Are you all right, dear?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

The question made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. "I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth. The Healer gave her a look that told her that she didn't believe Ginny, but handed over the small bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion anyway.

"It's just that you haven't come to me asking for this all year," she said gently.

_Yet another way I've failed._ Harry was making her happy – there was no reason, besides the fact that she was completely screwed up, for her to even need the potion again. A small voice that sounded like a mixture of her mother and Hermione told her that she wasn't being fair to herself or to Harry. She ignored it.

Madam Pomfrey cocked her head.

A traitorous urge to tell her about the dream rose up in Ginny, almost choking her. _Since when do I want to talk to people?_she thought incredulously. But the Healer suddenly looked so kind and understanding that Ginny almost wanted to seek another opinion. _She might know if I'm hopeless or not._

"Thanks," she said quickly, and fled, seeking out the normalcy of breakfast and the Great Hall.

Pigwidgeon was waiting for her, fluttering around the Gryffindor table, hooting excitedly. "Pig!" she said, taking her letter. She hadn't heard from anyone since Christmas, and seeing Hermione's small, neat writing made her feel strangely relieved.

_Dear Ginny,_

Hi, how are you? Things are going well here. Both of us are very busy, but we've been thinking of you a lot, and hoping that you're doing well and studying for your NEWTs. I've enclosed a study schedule for you – your brother thinks I'm "mental" but I hope you find it useful.

I have to admit – and no, your brother isn't reading this, I wouldn't tell him – that I'm dying of curiosity. How did your test go? Does he fancy you? Did you tell him you fancy him? What's going on with that?

Right. I've been sitting here and staring at the parchment for the last hour, and I really don't know how to do this delicately or how to even lead into it. And you're probably ripping this letter up as you read this sentence, but I simply can't write to you and not mention what happened over Christmas.

I think that's why you've had little communication from us. None of us want to hurt you. But we're all so relieved you finally told us that it's hard to reconcile that with what you must be feeling.

I imagine that you were trying to protect all of us at huge cost to yourself. And as someone who cares very much for you, I appreciate the strength it must have taken you, but it's easier to know. I hope that doesn't sound selfish, but it was very confusing and now it isn't so bad. So. You probably aren't even reading this anymore, but thank you for shedding light on the situation. I hope it makes you feel better, too.

Love from,  
Hermione

Ginny read the letter three times in quick succession, growing more confused by the second. She'd tried to avoid thinking of her family's reaction to Christmas as much as she could, because she'd thought they'd be angry and hurt that she'd told them. But…

_They're relieved?_ she thought. Why weren't they disgusted? She hadn't ever wanted to tell them because she didn't want them to feel the same way she did. _It wasn't really him,_ a small voice pointed out. It was so clear that Ginny actually turned her head, looking for the speaker, and was surprised that the thought came from her own mind.

She paid little attention to her classes, and did not even feel bad for it. Every time she spiraled into thinking the way she had for the last several days, Hermione's words hit her. _But we're all so relieved._

But _why_? They weren't stupid. They must know that the reason why it was hard for her to be around her dad was because sometimes she couldn't help but remember that she knew his body in ways that no daughter ever should. And she tried not to think about it, but it came out every once in a while. She couldn't avoid thinking about it all the time, they must know that. Why weren't they disgusted by how disturbed she was?

Just like with her dream about Harry, and how he'd turned into Lucius Malfoy. She'd been aroused and enjoying the dream and then her mind had conjured up an image that normal people wouldn't see.

_Yes, but normal people don't have Malfoy Manor in their past,_ the small voice pointed out. Ginny flinched at the thought, grateful that she was walking to class, and no one could see her face. The worst part was she wanted to listen to it. It made her feel strange. Like someone was hugging her and trying to shake some sense into her all at once.

It didn't help that she'd gotten into an argument with herself. It was all the more difficult, because that small voice had grown louder and more forceful and wouldn't let her finish her own thoughts.

_But I wanted Harry to rape—_

Don't be stupid. You desire him; you don't want him to rape you.

But—

It was just a dream. If you think dreams are reality, then you might actually be a nutter. It was as though Fred and George had stepped into her head and were trying to tease her into agreeing with them.

Ginny retreated. It was true that dreams weren't true, and she definitely didn't want Harry to turn into the Death Eaters. But it didn't change the fact that her dreams came from her own mind, and what if Malfoy Manor had warped her in some way?

_You're not. It's all right to be haunted by something that terrible._ Firm and logical, like Bill and Percy. _You're a Weasley. You're stronger than that._ A bit harsh, but still caring, just like Charlie.

_But how do I know for sure?_

It hit her then, in the middle of her last class of the day that she ought to seek out the Mirror of Erised again. It would show her whether or not she could listen to whatever was telling her that she wasn't as fucked up as she thought she was. Wouldn't it be different, now? Being with Harry had changed things for her; wouldn't the physical aspects of their relationship be reflected in the mirror?

It took her several hours to make her way to the Room of Requirement. She paced in front of it several times, thinking that she wanted to know what she desired most, and even when the door appeared she didn't immediately go in. The urging voice she'd listened to throughout the day was silent.

But the feelings it had evoked were still there, pushing her forward.

"It's not so much that I want to do this," she said softly. Arnold poked his head out of his bag and eyed her. "But I just – I want to feel like I did when Harry took me here." That ephemeral hope that had all but disappeared.

_Just fucking do it,_ Ron's voice whispered in her ear.

She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

It hit her right away. As soon as the door banged shut behind her, she saw herself reflected in a mirror pale and shaking and looking far more vulnerable than she ought to. Peering closer, she saw shadows hovering behind her. Looming. Her heart crashed to her feet.

"I don't want this," she moaned. _This_ couldn't be her heart's desire, she would—

_Look closer, Ginny,_ her dad's voice was quiet in her mind and for once didn't make her shiver with dread. She walked up to it, and the shadows behind her didn't take shape. She saw the form of a woman and a man, but they weren't solid enough to recognize. The glass was cracked down the middle, as though she had been slashed from head to toe.

It wasn't the Mirror of Erised. It was smaller and cracked; something tugged at her memory. Ginny was standing in front of a Foe Glass, and her enemies were reflected behind her. She knew what this was. Looking closer, she forced herself to identify the shadows. Her stomach dropped when she thought she made out a figure holding a cane, and a hulking shadow that might have been Fenrir Greyback.

As she watched, the shadows came closer. The figure of herself just stood there, like a puppet with cut strings, drooping down. Ginny backed away.

Her foot caught on something large, and she automatically stooped down. It was a club that looked like it might have belonged to a troll: thick and unwieldy. She glanced from it to the Foe Glass and back again.

_Do it, Gin._ Harry.

Closing her eyes, she hefted the club in her hand. It was very heavy and it scratched her palms. _I've been letting them win. I don't want to._

She swung and the glass shattered into a million little pieces. "Holy shit," she breathed. Cleansing anger burned through her belatedly. Her hands stung; the troll's club had been much too large, and splinters had shot into her palm. Ignoring them, she brought the club down again, sending shards spraying.

She pulverized the fuck out of it, and each blow felt incredible.

And it hit her, really hit her, and the force of it took her breath away. _I've been letting them win!_ The Room of Requirement had answered her, and had shown her what she most desired… and it – it had let her destroy some of the shadows.

Almost without thinking, she took her wand and healed her hands. They shook as wave after wave of realization hit her._I've been letting them win. All these years._ But tonight she hadn't. "Not anymore," she told Arnold. His eyes were very wide as he stared at her.

And, feeling disoriented and oddly light, she turned and left, barely aware of where her feet were taking her.

She slammed back into her dorm, glad that Emma and Demelza weren't yet in and she had the place completely to herself. The burning rage and strange triumph had dimmed somewhat, but she was still riding on the emotion, and the worry over how exactly she was going to apologize to Harry and explain to him what had happened hadn't hit yet. It was there, but muted.

Not to mention that she was pretty sure that he'd forgive her. It made her feel slightly guilty to bank on that, as she knew she'd hurt him quite badly. And she hadn't offered anything as an explanation. But he'd been so patient with her thus far that she couldn't help but have faith that he'd continue.

_Just one more time._

It was a little embarrassing, but it felt pretty good to have destroyed the Foe Glass. It was almost like she'd destroyed them. Or they weren't looking over her shoulder anymore.

Arnold greeted her by climbing up her robes and squeaking in her ear. "I know," she said. "I know you want to see Harry and Calliope. I do too." He seemed to understand, for the scolding note in his little voice disappeared and he nuzzled her. She stroked him a bit and then cast the privacy charms and set him down while she pulled off her robes and uniform.

She was about to dig through her trunk for a nightgown, but was distracted by feeling like something inside her had shifted over just an inch, and yet her entire perspective had changed. But she recognized the signs that her thoughts had been reordering themselves throughout the year.

Falling in love with Harry. Being honest with her family about the worst thing about Malfoy Manor. Feeling desire, and wanting intimacy. And now realizing that she really didn't have to associate the intimacy she might share with Harry with being raped. There would be a vast difference, like being hugged rather than beaten.

"And it's not so much that I didn't know," Ginny said out loud. Arnold peeped enthusiastically. "It's just that I've really avoided thinking about it." Now that she had her eyes open, though, she realized she'd been hiding from her own mind, because she'd been afraid of the pain.

The room seemed brighter.

"And Harry's been the eye-opener," she informed Arnold. It was true that her relationship with him hadn't solved every issue the way the immature and naïve part of her had hoped. But he'd really given her the motive to want to heal, and not to be so afraid to really acknowledge what had happened. And actually try to find her way out of the maze instead of pretending that she was all right.

She flopped backward, still stunned by the continued awareness that kept pouring over her. It was strange that clarity could come so swiftly. But it had been almost as easy as opening her eyes, as though she could have seen these things long ago. And even though she knew that it would be frivolous to assume that everything was sunshine and rainbows now, but… she already felt more at ease.

And more prepared for all that would come with a more adult relationship. It frightened her a little, still. But it was more of an echo than a thought that made her panic and think about other things.

_It's okay to desire Harry. He isn't like_ them. This ran through her mind again and again. Harry was the furthest thing from a monster as someone could get. Her mind had played a cruel trick on her with the dream. Harry wouldn't turn into Malfoy.

If he were to touch her, it would be gentle. Ginny closed her eyes and imagined it. His hands would caress her body, and he probably wouldn't even do it until she strongly encouraged him to. She'd practically pushed her bum into his hand. Harry wouldn't take anything that she didn't give him.

If she wanted him to touch her breasts, he would. Her hand moved of it's own accord until she was lightly stroking her breast through her bra.

She was very self-conscious about what she was doing – it seemed like such a _bloke_ thing. But when she closed her eyes and pretended that it was Harry's caress causing her nipple to harden beneath her fingertips, it ceased to matter. No one was watching; she was about as private as she could get.

Her hand traveled down, and she bent her knee. Harry's hand on her bum had inflamed her, and the idea of his hand between her legs had her panting. She allowed a few moments of her recent dreams – the good ones – to inspire her. Her body responded with a growing enthusiasm that surprised her a little, and she rolled her hips, thrusting up against her own hand. Her eyes were pressed firmly closed as she thought about her dreams.

Her orgasm rippled over her body, leaving her feeling almost weightless. _So that's why everyone likes this so much,_ she thought, with a sense of wonder. It wasn't so much the physical sensation, but the ability to do it. And she hadn't once had a disturbing image pop into her head, and she was pretty damn certain that she wouldn't while she was awake and able to control it.

"Now all I have to do is tell Harry I'm mostly okay now," she told Arnold. But it was only nine in the evening. It seemed like forever until tomorrow, another twelve hours, at least. But then it seemed like not enough time, since he deserved an actual explanation instead of a stammering apology.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

05 February 2002

Harry jolted awake the moment someone touched his shoulder. "Whathefu?" he said blearily. He kept blinking -- _have I gone blind?_ -- and realized that his room was black as pitch.

"Harry, I'm so sorry."

_Ginny._

The sleepy haze persisted, and his mouth opened and closed several times without any words emerging. What was going on? Hadn't she decided not to see him anymore? Why was she in his room and apologizing to him? It almost made his head hurt. _Am I dreaming?_ "Am I dreaming?"

"No," she said. "Listen, I've been really stupid—"

"You're sure?" said Harry, who thought that if it turned out it was a dream, and Ginny seeking him out after several long days of silence and disgust was only an image conjured by his mind, it was a particularly cruel trick. "Because—"

Her hand clamped over his mouth. "Sorry," she said. "But it's taken me all night to get here, and I have to tell you something. And – and I'm really… well, it's hard for me."

Harry nodded, grateful that some of the cobwebs were clearing out of his head. Her hand disappeared, but he still didn't say anything. He still had a general question of what the hell was going on, but Ginny had settled herself at the foot of his bed – he could feel the weight near his feet – and he hoped she would explain.

Not that she needed an explanation for deciding that she didn't want to see him. But why the change of heart? There was a long silence, and Harry might have begun to doubt the fact that she was really here if Arnold hadn't chosen that moment to jump on his chest and crawl over to nuzzle his chin.

"I really liked it when you touched my bum," she blurted out. This only added to the confusion, and Harry suddenly had the strong sense that he didn't actually understand anything.

"Er," he said, before remembering that he wasn't to say anything.

"And I like it when you kiss me," she added. It sounded as though these words carried heavy weight, though in his befuddled state, Harry couldn't quite grasp what she was getting at. "I – well, I mean… I really, really like it." For some reason, this was accompanied by a prod to his foot.

"What time is it?" he asked suddenly.

"Three," she said hesitantly.

Harry felt like telling her that it was a bit late to be so cryptic, but the part of him that had missed her and was happy to see her no matter the hour overpowered the cranky part of him. He held his tongue. But he still didn't see the importance. Harry really, really liked her kisses too, if his physical reaction was any indicator. It was like having a constant—

_Oh._

"Oh," he said, surprised. _Is that what she's getting at? Really?_ He sat up. "Really? I mean… not what time it is, but about the – er – the really liking kissing part?"

She puffed out a sigh. "Well, yes," she finally said, voice firm. Despite the darkness, Harry knew that she was blushing. His sleepiness was fading very fast. They'd never talked about this kind of thing, of course, and he needed to give it his full attention.

_I was really wrong,_ he admitted to himself.

"I was – it – I didn't," she stumbled over her words, and then fumbled around in the dark and found his foot underneath the bedclothes. Gripping it tightly, she continued. "I was confused. I thought… well, I wasn't thinking things through all the way. It just seemed like being – aroused by you meant something that it absolutely doesn't."

In spite of the halting speech, Harry knew exactly what she meant. Of course. "I had the same thing," he told her. "For the entire first year." He'd masturbated a grand total of three times that year, and each occasion had brought about disturbing thoughts and shame. It had taken a while, but sexual frustration and greater distance from the situation had made him realize that even though his mind had been assaulted with images that only a monster would find titillating, he'd never found them arousing, and he never would.

But how could he tell her this without revealing his private habits?

"I was really afraid that Voldemort warped me," he said. "And that I'd – well, that I wouldn't be able to help myself. But, Ginny," he continued firmly. "Never. I never would, and I—"

"I know," she interrupted him, giving his foot a squeeze. Harry was impressed that she'd made sense of what he'd just said, given that it had been pretty incoherent even to him. "I know. And that was sort of – I was really disgusted with myself, you know," she told him. Her voice shook a little. "And I _know_ that it isn't always – sex can be… not like that."

"I hope not, otherwise there are lots of seriously fucked up people in the world," Harry said before he could stop himself. He froze. _Now is not the time for humor! Not even dark humor!_

But instead of withdrawing again, she snorted. Silence fell, and Harry found himself wishing that he could see her face. As though in response to his thoughts, she lit the end of her wand and looked him full in the face. "Mostly I felt awful that… I had a nightmare," she shrugged. "And it started out as a really, really good dream."

She eyed him carefully, and Harry nodded once to prevent her from prodding him again. Now wasn't the moment, but he sensed that once the seriousness of the conversation faded, he was going to be very happy to think of her dreaming about him.

"And then it changed," she said delicately. "And, well, it was suddenly Lucius Malfoy."

Harry thought very quickly. He felt a renewed rage at her tormentors for being able to reach through the years so deftly and continue to hurt her. But she didn't need to see anger now, so he pushed it away. It was a lot to process. She hadn't turned away from him because she'd come to her senses. But she was feeling confused by her sexuality. Harry couldn't begin to imagine how difficult it must be for her – it had been hard enough for him, and he hadn't suffered the way she had – but it wasn't something that had to drive them apart.

"I'm sorry," he said thickly.

"I'm the one who should be," she said quickly. "I know you aren't anything like them. I swear. It wasn't because – I don't think—"

"I know." It was his turn to interrupt. He eyed her closely. She was shaking, whether from nerves or cold, he couldn't tell. Without even thinking about it, he scooted to his left, and pulled away the bedclothes. "Come here."

She crawled over immediately and lay on her left side, facing him. "I've got it figured out now," she said. "And I wanted to tell you – I'm sorry that I let it bother me so much."

Harry hesitated, buying time by hooking a lock of hair over her ear. He was feeling very cozy and warm all of a sudden. And sleepy. And happy that she was here with him. "I avoided you for several days when I realized that I was attracted to you," he told her.

She lifted her head off the pillow, eyes wide. "When you didn't want to go flying anymore?"

"Mm hmm," he murmured. "And this – I'm not going to lie. I haven't been very happy over the last few days. But what you've been sorting through – well, I understand why you needed a break." He curled toward her in almost the same moment that she curled toward him. Their knees touched.

"Still," she yawned. "If I ever get crazy again—"

"You aren't crazy," he told her forcefully. "I'm the one who's a complete nutter." And it was true. It seemed remarkably stupid of him to avoid her.

"Don't turn this into a contest," she said. "I _am_ a Weasley."

Harry appreciated the levity. The conversation had lifted a burden from his shoulders, he had to admit. A lot of it had been there before she'd recoiled. It seemed a bit strange that he was relaxed enough to sleep, but he was.

"I won't do it again," she said quietly. "I don't want to hide anymore."

"Good," he said.

"I'm really comfortable," she said. Harry was once again unaware of what she was getting at. He cracked his eyes open, and noticed that she'd moved her head closer to his. _Maybe she wants a good night kiss?_

He was glad that he wasn't too drained to enjoy the feel of her lips against his. Nor was he too tired to smile at the sight of Arnold scooting closer to the sleeping Calliope.

"Can I stay?" she asked.

"You were going to leave?" he asked.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

05 February 2002

Ginny awoke feeling warm and well-rested for the first time in days. It took her a few seconds to realize why, but she gradually became aware of Harry's body curled around hers. She lay on her side, and the palm of his hand was splayed on her belly, just below her ribcage. His stomach was pressed to her back, and she could feel the puffs of breath from his snores stirring the hair near her ear.

And Harry's erection was snug against her bum.

Her breath caught as fear and dread swamped over her, and suddenly she wasn't in a warm bed, but under a table, and she knew exactly what a hard penis meant. It wasn't anything good and--

"Juh," Harry murmured sleepily. She immediately latched on to the sound of his voice.

_This is Harry,_ she told herself firmly. It took several moments for her heartbeat to calm down, but the longer she forced herself to remember that it was Harry nestled against her, the easier it got. One by one, her limbs relaxed. The fear and dread receded, and once it had faded enough, Ginny realized that she was more intrigued by his arousal than frightened.

_Not like you should be frightened at all._ Ginny had to admit that it would be pretty hypocritical of her to dislike the fact that he was aroused. He was really able to light a fire in her with his kisses and bum touching, and her confusion over that had faded. Plus, he was asleep, and his penis wasn't actually doing anything. Just resting against her bum.

Ginny felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to giggle. After the last several days, it just felt quite surreal to wake up in Harry's bed with him wrapped around her, completely asleep, and with an erection throbbing against her. And she wasn't frightened a bit, not anymore, though her skin still quivered with the aftermath.

Almost without thinking, she pressed back against it a little. Harry sighed heavily and Ginny froze, but he continued to sleep. Now that she was paying especial attention to it, she could feel that it was throbbing against her. Gradually, she relaxed and her limbs felt like they were melting into the bed. Her breasts ached, and she was very aware of his hand on her belly all of a sudden. It was warm, hot even, and she wished he'd move it just a few inches higher...

All sorts of wild thoughts were surging through her head, and the mad urge to roll over and perhaps even steal a peek almost seized her. _He wouldn't know,_ said a maddeningly little voice. _I would know,_ she argued. _Harry wouldn't appreciate me spying on him like that._ But her common sense and respect for his privacy was slowly being overshadowed by the slow tide of desire.

_It won't hurt anything._

Ginny rolled over, and was hit with a heady dose of nervous excitement when Harry moved when she did. It seemed to happen naturally that he was on his back and she was on her side. She laid her head on his chest and, heart threatening to thump right out of her, considered what to do with the bedclothes. And even though she probably shouldn't want to take advantage of Harry while he was sleeping, she couldn't help but like the fact that she wanted to.

It was almost like she'd finally woken up. Strange to think of it in that way, but even though the last few days had been terrible and almost as confusing as the first weeks after she'd returned to the Burrow after Malfoy Manor, she felt a greater sense of clarity. Destroying the Foe Glass in the Room of Requirement had lessened the sense that the Death Eaters were looming over her, and what had come after in her dorm had reassured her that the desire that Harry evoked in her shouldn't cause her to be afraid.

And the desire that she evoked in Harry – that should be the least frightening of all. Everything that happened at Malfoy Manor – he'd killed people to stop himself from hurting her -- and everything since (even his long absence) was just proof that he'd do anything not to hurt her. She didn't have to be confused about that, not at all.

Even in the midst of her thoughts, Ginny was very aware that her hand now rested on his lower stomach, reminding her of why she'd rolled over in the first place. Harry's erection, pressing against her bum.

The bedclothes were still in the way, and she didn't know quite what to do with them. She pushed away further thoughts of how she was technically taking advantage of him by reminding herself that just the night before, he'd admitted to desiring her. And she wasn't going to touch it… just look at it. It wasn't _her_ fault that a man's arousal was easy to see. _It's not like I'm going to strip him before I ogle him,_ she told herself. _And he looks at my bum often enough._

She shifted a bit and squirmed so that the covers were just barely covering his stomach, right below her hand. His shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of flesh and dark hair surrounding his navel and disappearing into his pajama bottoms. The languid, heavy feeling in her limbs increased, and the air in the room seemed particularly heavy all of a sudden.

Ginny was just trying to convince herself to lift the rest of the bedclothes, when Harry woke up. Her ear was still pressed to his chest, and she heard his sleepy mumble followed by a hitch in his breath. His stomach muscles contracted beneath her hand, and his hips rose off the bed.

"Shit," he murmured, squirming.

He tried to move away, but Ginny grabbed hold of his shirt and wouldn't let him go. When he froze, she loosened her hold. Her fingers splayed on his stomach, and it quivered beneath her touch. It was strange… all of her attention was focused on that one spot, and she knew by the quality of his silence, and his uneven breath, that all of Harry's focus was just as intense.

_I'm going to do this,_ she thought. _This is going to happen._ She brushed her fingertips through his thatch of dark hair. And then she followed it down, dipping her hand beneath the waistband and tickled a little. Harry sucked in a deep breath and arched his back, mumbling incoherently, though Ginny thought she heard her name. His reaction made her hand travel down another inch, until her index finger rested lightly against hard, heated flesh.

Ginny turned her head and pressed a kiss directly over his racing heart, just as she stroked his penis lightly and then wrapped her hand around it. Harry made a sound of pleasure deep in his throat, a mix between a groan and a sigh.

She explored him as his hips rolled and he thrust into her hand. The tip, she discovered, was particularly sensitive, and her touch was causing him to pant and whisper to her.

"Ginny – that's – whoa," he said. His hand moved restlessly into her hair. "I've – thought and thought – it's even _better_ --_much_ better than a fantasy—"

And even though she kept a tight lid on whatever lingering anxiety and fading dread she felt, his voice kept her in the bed with him, instead of trapped in her own memories. She increased her pace.

_Look at him._

She obeyed the impulse, despite the fact that her face flushed at the idea of actually meeting his eyes when she was stroking him and trying to please him. But she peeked at him to find that he was staring at her. The look of pleasure on his face forced away some of the lingering shadows.

But the intensity was a bit much, and she glanced down. The moment she pressed her lips to his neck, he gave a final groan, and warmth flowed over her hand. She kept her face buried in his shoulder while he recovered, and slowly, almost reluctantly, she withdrew her hand, not knowing exactly what she was meant to do with the mess.

Harry took care of the problem for her. He reached over for his wand and cast a simple cleaning charm that her mother used for fixing spills. She couldn't help but chuckle. "Sorry," she said, lifting her head and meeting his eyes again, the moment of discomfort fading fast. "It's just – I've never heard of that spell being used in quite that way."

He kissed the tip of her nose and then her lips. "You aren't a bloke," he pointed out fairly. "This charm is pretty much the most useful one out there," he admitted.

Ginny felt her face flush again, but in an entirely good way. She felt strangely relaxed and comfortable and not the least bit jittery. _This is Harry._ And even though his presence in her life and what he meant to her couldn't make all of the darkness completely disappear, he gave her the strength to step into the sunlight. "I hope – well, I hope we use it, you know. More."

"Me too," he said fervently.


	18. If You've Got Trouble

05 February 2002 – 08 February 2002

_I'm never wanking again,_ thought Harry.

He was still a little disoriented. His mind and body kept sending him little messages (like _I just had an orgasm! With Ginny!_ and _wow, I really hope we do that again_), and this made it difficult to concentrate. _Focus, Harry,_ he told himself sternly. It just felt surreal. After the last few days, the early morning conversation, and everything that had gone on before, it was very strange to know that if he concentrated hard enough, he could still feel her hand wrapped around him.

Her head was back on his chest -- _is she still blushing?_ -- and she was hugging him around the middle. He lifted his hand and stroked her hair, and was more than a little torn at how to proceed. Should he reciprocate? He wanted to, he really did. Ginny amazed him, and he wanted to amaze her.

But.

Did she want him to? And if she did, what did she want him to do? _What can I do?_ Harry asked himself. It wasn't like he had any experience in these things. The extent of his knowledge of the female body had been gleaned from pictures, an embarrassing conversation with Sirius before he started his fifth year, and lots of speculation in the dorms. This did not lend Harry any confidence.

Ginny had told him that she'd been aroused, but this had caused her to have nightmares. What if he tried to touch her and please her and the same thing happened? The thoughts continued to run through his mind with increasing urgency, and Harry realized that he was going to have to talk about it.

"Ginny," he said.

"Yes?" she said. And even though she accompanied this by stroking his chest with her thumb, he wasn't to be distracted.

"Well…" he said. The question seemed to hang over him, and he grew increasingly anxious by the moment. And as much as he'd appreciated what had just happened, he wished that he could do the same to her without – well, without talking about it before. Like if it happened in the heat of the moment… that would be great.

_You could always try,_ he told himself.

She chose that moment to lift her head, and Harry awkwardly scooted down so that their faces were side by side. _It's different, kissing in a bed,_ he realized. But he fought through the strangeness and kissed her. _Different, but very nice._ He rolled her over until his head was above hers.

The kiss heated up almost instantly. It might have been the position they were in, or their location, or what had just happened before (Harry suspected a combination of all three), but arousal came back. He cupped her head with one hand and stroked her arm with the other; she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer until their chests pressed together. Not that he was on top of her, not at all; he moved restlessly, pressing his hips into the mattress.

His hand inched down until it came to the curve of her hip, and Harry could tell immediately that she was distracted. He brushed the side of her bum and, encouraged by her small moan, grasped it in his hand. _It's perfect,_ he thought dazedly. It was small and firm; he spent the next several minutes memorizing the feel of it.

Unbelievably, though, he began to want to explore different curves, the ones above her waist. It wasn't as though touching her bum wasn't enough for him – he knew he'd return to it later. But he could feel her breasts against him, and he wanted to know what they would feel like in his hands. He fought the uncertainty, pulled back and pressed kisses along her jaw, while he moved up.

His fingers brushed up against her stomach, then dipped back down so he could get under her pajama shirt and touch bare flesh. He hovered uncertainly, fingers splayed on her stomach. But she moaned again, and he licked the sensitive spot just below her ear as he cupped her breast.

Both of them stilled. She wasn't wearing a bra, and Harry could feel her hard nipple against his palm. _What do I do now?_ he thought. Long moments went by as Harry was caught by indecision. _What am I supposed to do with it now it's in my hand?_

Tentatively, he stroked it, trying to be as gentle as possible. Sure, he'd squeezed her bum and kneaded it, but her chest seemed like a more sensitive area. He was about to experiment a little using his thumb, when her hand came up and gripped his.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm really, really sorry, but – well, maybe this is too much?"

He immediately pulled his hand out from her shirt and raised his head so he could look at her. "Don't apologize," he told her. "I'm the one who—"

She prodded his side. Her cheeks were flaming red. "I liked it," she said. "But I'm a little… I just thought that maybe it would be better if I had time to get used to different things." She looked down at the bedclothes and shrugged a shoulder. "If you don't mind, you know."

"I don't mind at all," he told her, rolling over onto his side. "I just wanted you to feel like I did when you touched me."

"It felt really good," she said earnestly, looking him in the eye. "I'm more – I just don't want another nightmare," she admitted. "But if you don't mind… would you try again? Not now, but next time, maybe?"

"Gladly," he said.

She rolled over too and hugged him. Harry automatically tried to shift his hips to hide his arousal from her, but what had been only inconvenient while standing was completely impossible on the bed. _And you don't really need to hide it anymore,_ a logical voice pointed out. _Chances are, she doesn't mind._

"Again?" Ginny said, surprised.

"Well, yeah," said Harry.

"Do you want me to…?"

_Yes._ "Er – you don't have to," he told her. He was quite impressed at his ability to say no, and maybe he was being completely mental, but he'd prefer it if it was more of a mutual thing. "You'll spoil me. I mean 'it'," Harry rushed on. "You'll spoil _it_. It'll think it can always have what it wants. And that's just not possible."

"All right," she said, patting his back a little. She pulled away and got out of the bed; Harry propped himself up on his elbow, watching her, hoping that he hadn't done anything to offend her. A little chuckle escaped her, easing his worries. "Do you always refer to your – your _it_ as – well, a separate entity?"

"Sometimes," Harry said easily. Usually when it was being particularly out of control and he didn't want to claim responsibility for it. "Are you leaving?"

Ginny grimaced. "I have to. I have to wash and dress and study today, and I'm a little afraid that… well." Her face turned bright red. "I just spent the night with you. And I think I should go before I'm gone any longer."

As much as Harry didn't want her to go, he thought this was probably for the best. Reluctantly, he left the warmth of his bed and rummaged through his wardrobe. He pulled out his father's invisibility cloak. "You can use this," he said. He wrapped it around her, and used the opportunity to give her a hug.

"I've got to do a lot of homework," she said. "But I'll be around later."

She left, after scooping up a sleeping Arnold, leaving Harry to contemplate how their relationship had changed – for the better – in such a short amount of time. He had a feeling that something huge had happened to her yesterday; they'd actually spoken openly about sex. And there had been a brightness in her face (despite the blush) that hadn't been there before. Like she had taken a huge step forward.

Harry couldn't ignore the fact that he had to match her. _It's probably only a matter of time until she wants to see her family,_ thought Harry, feeling a prickle of unease. Ever since Christmas, there had been a sort of unspoken promise that when she went home, he'd go with her. And he'd thought that he'd have until the end of term, but it seemed probably that she'd want to see them over the Easter holidays, didn't it? She wanted the vision she'd seen in the Mirror of Erised.

He pulled out a piece of parchment and stared down at it. A reply to Ron (and Hermione) seemed necessary all of a sudden. He scrawled out a quick note and vowed to send it via one of the school owls before he changed his mind.

_And I don't want to change my mind._ He missed them a lot, and the idea that maybe he'd see them again and spend time with them just made it worse. Even though he was still somewhat waiting for the other shoe to drop – a large part of him didn't understand why Ginny didn't hate him – he was beginning to think that maybe the other Weasleys wouldn't hate him.

"Don't get your hopes up," he said out loud.

But thoughts of the Weasleys and especially Ron and Hermione followed him for the rest of the day. It was almost as though he was having a running conversation with them in his head, as he tried to figure out what he would do or say once he saw them again. Focusing on correcting the third year essays was difficult, as both Ginny and everyone else kept popping up in his head. _I wish Hermione was here_, he thought. Even though he would probably never ask her advice on sex, he could at least ask her about the mysterious ways Ginny's mind seemed to work.

But she would probably just tell him to--

_Buy a book_.

His eyes popped open. Of course! He could picture the section of Flourish and Blotts in his head -- there was an entire shelf devoted to sex (in the summer before third year, Ron had claimed it was the the best thing about the bookstore, and the twins had agreed). Maybe he'd find the answers he sought in one of those... but he'd have to go in disguise... and he'd have to find a way to keep it from Ginny...

Harry was both relieved and disappointed when Ginny told him after class on Tuesday that she wasn't feeling well and she was going to stay in her dorm for the evening. It gave him a chance to run his errand at Flourish and Blotts – and hopefully she would never find out that he went. It had become increasingly obvious that he would need some sort of guide. And soon.

He wanted to reciprocate, and it seemed as though Ginny was steadily becoming more comfortable with the idea of allowing him to try. Just last night, he'd had both hands on her bum – he'd slipped them down her trousers, so her knickers were the only thing between his palms and naked flesh – and it really was just a matter of time (he hoped) until she let him touch her the way she'd touched him four times now.

But first he had to get through his classes.

They had gotten easier this term, though he still had difficulties with the younger classes. He had a feeling that he'd frightened them with his candid stories about his own years at Hogwarts. A rebellious part of him commented that they were pretty twitchy if they were afraid of hearing the truth – he'd had to live through it at their age, after all.

His class with the second year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were even worse than usual, though not through any fault of his own.

"I've been looking around for a boggart," he announced. It was a lie – he'd done no such thing, but he intended to. "I know it's generally a third year concept, but I think you lot are ready for it," he added bracingly.

They exchanged glances. Stuart Method, Aisling Powell, and Elizabeth Barnett muttered to each other. Powell – who was a little too fond of gestures – almost poked Barnett in the eye. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes._Where is the Gryffindor courage?_

"The boggarts are the ones that show you what you fear the most, right?" Barnett piped up. "They turn into something scary?"

"I _told_ you that's what it is," Method said. Harry waited patiently for them to ask him a question, feeling good about his improving professor skills. _I'm getting better at patience,_ he thought, satisfied. Hermione would probably be proud of him.

"What do you see?" Powell asked suddenly.

"Me?" Harry asked. He was about to respond that his boggart would turn into a dementor, but he stopped himself just in time. That wasn't so certain, anymore. Not even a little bit. But how could a dementor turn into an idea – that anyone else would pay the price for his actions and his existence – instead of a physical object? "I'm not really sure, but I think it might turn into the dead bodies of those I love," he said.

Everyone exchanged glances.

"I thought it was a dementor," said Powell.

"It used to be," said Harry, not bothering to ask how she'd known this. Ever since he'd rejoined the magical world, people had known all sorts of things about him. "But things changed as I got older."

"Even your greatest fear?" Method asked skeptically.

"Even that," Harry nodded, before changing the subject.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

08 February 2002

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger," said the owner of Flourish and Blotts. He patted her kindly on the arm. "But I'm afraid that would be bad business."

Hermione pressed her lips together, not wanting to show the fool that she was exerting all her self-control not to hex him. Was it so much to ask that a store not sell one little book? _It isn't little,_ said the logical part of her. _It's a very big book._ That much had been proven by the small excerpts she'd managed to read. Hermione herself had been mentioned – the largest excerpt had detailed her torture by Rodolphus Lestrange, and it had been the absolute truth.

"This book is what the wizarding world has been waiting for these last several years," he continued.

"The wizarding world owes a debt to Harry Potter," she said fiercely. It inflamed her because whatever had happened, though awful, she was sure, had led to Voldemort's ultimate death. "And I'm certain he would hate it if a book of this kind was sold to the public."

The wizard shrugged delicately, lifting his hands. "If Harry Potter himself came in and asked me not to sell it, I would think about it. But for now – every witch and wizard in Britain will want a copy of it, and we're the first place they think of when they need to buy a book. It would be irresponsible not to sell it."

"But—"

"If you do excuse me," he said politely, but firmly. "It was a pleasure, Miss Granger; I'm only sorry I couldn't offer you more help."

_Toad,_ Hermione thought furiously. Ron had been right; this trip to Diagon Alley had been a waste of time. They were obviously going to have to try something different. But what?

Hermione was so immersed in her thoughts that she walked right into a young wizard, knocking the book right out of his hands and onto the floor. "I'm sorry!" she said. "I wasn't looking – here, let me—"

She stooped down and picked it up, not immediately aware of what kind of book she was holding until she read the title: _Sex: the Myths and the Magic_. For a long moment, she just stared down at it, certain that her cheeks were bright red. _Could this be any more embarrassing?_

"Er – sorry," she said faintly. She straightened her spine and looked him in the eye, determined to salvage the situation. His eyes were very wide, and a very strange color, too. Muddy and formless, as though they'd never quite decided which color they wanted to be, green or brown.

His messy brown hair stuck up on all ends, adding to the picture of surprise he made. Something about the way he was completely frozen steadied her. "Here is your book," she said calmly.

"Thanks," he said, taking it automatically. He looked down at it as though he'd never seen it before, and let out a nervous chuckle. And then he reached up and ruffled his hair. "Er – just thanks. Sorry about that." He started backing toward the door slowly, eyeing her warily.

Hermione didn't know what gave it away. The color of his eyes (which was shoddy transfiguration work), the nervous way he ruffled his hair, and even how he backed up and didn't look away from her added up and it struck her._This is Harry._ But before she could jerk herself out of her state of shock, he was out the door and gone.

She didn't know what surprised her more; that she'd seen him again after almost four years, or that he'd purchased not only a book, but a book about sex.

Hermione had barely told Ron about her encounter with the man she was dead certain was Harry before they had to Apparate to the twins' flat. He was still expressing his astonishment as they walked up the stairs behind Weasleys Wizard Wheezes.

_I may have to give him a cup sooner than I thought,_ she thought. It had been coming on for a while. After Christmas, she'd decided that that would be her next gift to him; it would be dishonest of her not to give it to him after everything he'd gone through. He'd held it together.

"I can't believe he was buying a sex book," Ron said gleefully, rubbing his hands together to stave off the cold. "Maybe that's what his weird note meant. He's working on scoring with some broad, and he's going to bring her home to meet the family."

"What's going on?" Fred stood at the open door, arms crossed, a slight smile hovering over his lips. Hermione was glad to see it. Of all the brothers, the revelation about the cruelty Ginny had suffered had hit him the hardest. That combined with George moving out with Angelina had brought out a quiet, contemplative side in him that just seemed wrong. _Not that I condone his more reckless pranks,_ Hermione told herself. _But it's good that he's more relaxed._

"Harry was buying a sex book at Flourish and Blotts," Ron announced. "Hermione saw him."

"_Ron!_" she hissed. _Maybe he doesn't deserve that cup after all._ "That's private, and Harry wouldn't—"

"Is he here to stop us?" Ron asked, waving his arm carelessly and pushing by Fred into the warmth of the small flat. Hermione followed, grimacing at the clutter. George was supposed to be almost packed; instead, the flat looked just as messy as it had the previous week.

Fred's eyes widened, as well as his grin. "You're joking? George – come here!" George bounded into the room, carrying a lampshade and wearing a Gryffindor tie around his head. He also seemed to be in higher spirits, and Hermione couldn't help but hope that the boys were starting to come out of it. It was far more difficult for them than it was for her. They were Ginny's big brothers and even though they couldn't have done anything, hearing the extent of the brutality and the depraved things done to her that were beyond usual evil had caused the guilt to come crashing back.

"Harry bought a sex manual," Fred said smugly.

George looked as though Christmas might have come early. "How do you know?" he asked cautiously. He tucked the tie behind his ear, so it didn't hang in his eyes.

"I saw him," Hermione said succinctly. "I really don't think—"

"This is great," George chortled. "Our little Harry, finally growing up." He wiped a fake tear from his eye.

"I think that's what his note meant," Ron shrugged. A traitorous part of Hermione was glad of the light subject matter, she had to admit (but only to herself; there was no need to show weakness in front of the twins). After dealing with the fact that, for better or worse, that book was going to be published – Kingsley had done what he could to stop it, but Ravenna Sennet had not done anything illegal – it was good to think of something less serious. "He said he's 'working on' coming home. Whatever the hell that means."

"You know," Fred said slowly, an arrested look in his eyes. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, George?"

George nodded crisply. "Of course I am. All these years, we've been completely wrong—"

"It's pathetic, really," Fred agreed. "We've obviously misjudged our absent young friend—"

"Here we thought he's been feeling piles of guilt—"

"That hero complex—"

"But really he just knows that we'd tease him mercilessly—"

"Take the mickey out of him, we would—"

"No, no, he's really just afraid to come home a virgin," George finished. By this time, Ron had to lean up against the wall for support, and Hermione couldn't quite hold in a chuckle. It helped to ease the ache a bit. Almost four years later, and she still had a hole in her life where Harry should be. And it was worse – much worse – for Ron.

The truth of the matter was that whatever was keeping Harry from seeing them again was completely not a laughing matter. Hermione knew Harry well enough that it was obvious that whatever had happened at Malfoy Manor had hurt him quite badly and he was simply incapable of speaking about it. This was so frustrating and so sad at the same time that joking about it, and coming up with a ludicrous explanation for his absence, was a relief.

Still, she felt guilty speaking about his private life. "We shouldn't talk about him like this. He isn't here and—"

"That's the point, Hermione," said Ron. He looked directly at her. His expression was a mixture of laughter and defiance, with a hint of sadness. "He isn't here."

"Although I'd be laughing at him all the same," Fred said honestly. "And then give him some advice—"

"Advice on what?" George snorted. "How to wank? When was the last time you were with an actual witch?"

Hermione covered her ears. "Don't make me hex you," she groaned. That was a little too much knowledge about Fred.

"So," Ron said suddenly. "Who do you think it is? I'm betting he's after some Muggle. Doesn't seem like he'd go for a witch."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

11 February 2002

It was Pollux Sennet that inspired Ginny to finally reply to Hermione's letter.

Ginny walked down the corridor, not really paying attention to where she was going. Arnold rode on her shoulder, squeaking every once in a while, just to keep her entertained. But mostly her thoughts were on Harry, and how nice it was that he was both completely clueless about girls (Ginny had almost expected him to figure out that she'd had bad cramps on Tuesday, but he had remained oblivious), and yet was very wonderful at kissing and other things.

_It's the other things that make it a bit difficult to concentrate in his class,_Ginny admitted. It was difficult to separate Harry the Professor from the Harry who took every other opportunity to kiss her. And he was perfectly willing to go very slow, and it hadn't seemed to bother him very much when she'd let him take off her shirt but not her bra. _I'm happy with doing whatever you want,_ he kept telling her. And she believed him.

But still… it didn't seem quite fair of her. She'd brought him out of his trousers and stolen glances at him several times now and—

"There you are, Weasley."

Pollux Sennet's voice made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Arnold knew his voice, too, and started vibrating with annoyance. The Slytherin boy unfolded himself from the wall – he'd obviously been waiting for her – and gave her a smile that made her skin crawl.

"I'm going to get a special preview of that book I told you about," he told her. "And I've been thinking about this a lot lately, but I think I've figured out why you don't want to talk about it."

Ginny was quite certain that she didn't want to hear his opinion – nor the context in which he'd come to these conclusions. It made her feel sick to her stomach. "Fuck off, Sennet," she said coldly. And before he could say or do anything, she glanced around, making sure that no one was watching, and said, "_Petrificus Totallus._"

It made a satisfying noise when he dropped to the floor like a stone, eyes just barely beginning to show his outrage. She stepped over him and headed off to her next class.

She'd almost forgotten about the book, but the idea of it brought annoyance and anger and the renewed urge to keep it from being published. _I've got to write to Hermione._

Classes were not her priority. It took a ridiculously long time to formulate her reply – she couldn't just write "who wrote the book?" and be done with it. She had to acknowledge everything else, and that's what had her tossing away half-written notes with increasing annoyance. By the end of the day, she scrawled something out – she was set to meet Harry, and didn't want to be late – and hurried to the owlery to get it sent.

"This goes to Hermione Granger," she told the owl firmly. It pushed off into the air and winged its way out into the setting sun. Ginny pushed back the feeling that she was forgetting something and went to find Harry.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

12 February 2002

Ron slammed into the house, temper threatening to explode. "HERMIONE!" he bellowed. "_HERMIONE!_" His hands were still shaking with rage. _Damn that Sennet bitch!_ He stalked the living room, hearing her light footsteps on the stairs.

"Ron, what is it?" she asked. Her voice was calm, but Ron knew it was an act. "Tell me."

Seeing her helped calm him a little. "It's that fucking bitch," he spat. "You won't believe it – the book is going to be a lot worse than we thought."

"How—"

"It was a stupid thing," Ron said, still slightly unable to believe how lucky he'd gotten with finding this out in the first place. "I was on Azkaban duty today, you know?" At her nod, he continued. "And Tonks' replacement pointed out that I'd been flubbing up the records – I was writing in the information backward and – never mind," he ran his fingers through his hair. "That doesn't matter. But then I went back to try to fix all the entries I'd obviously done wrong, and then I got curious about who was visiting the Lestranges—"

"Ron! Just get to the point," she said.

"Well, it's the listing of family members who have come to visit," said Ron. "The prisoners. They're allowed to, you know."

"I'm well aware of Azkaban visiting policies, Ron," she said in a dangerously quiet voice. Ron didn't blame her; he was really mucking this up. He paced, skirting the over-stuffed sofa her parents had given them when they'd first moved in together. When it had come out that someone was writing a book about Malfoy Manor and Voldemort's defeat, Ron hadn't worried about it much. But when Hermione had told him that the woman claimed to have an inside source (one who wasn't Harry or Ginny, who appeared to not want to talk to anyone), he'd started to worry.

And when it was Dobby, the worry had grown. But now…

"She was visiting Rabastan Lestrange—"

"How could she? They only allow close family members—"

"She's their sister," Ron told her. "Ravenna Lestrange Sennet."

It took almost a full second for awareness to hit, but Hermione came to the same conclusion that he had. The Lestranges had been heavily involved with Ginny's capture and captivity – that much they knew. Which meant that the Sennet bitch was perfectly capable of writing a book that exposed everything to the Wizarding world. He didn't even want to think what this would do to his sister. Her experience had left her clamping down on her thoughts and feelings so tightly that calling her a private person seemed like the understatement of the century.

"If it was someone who wasn't doing this out of greed, it wouldn't be so bad," Hermione said angrily. She was, if anything, even more infuriated than Ron. "She visited Rabastan and Bellatrix, you said?"

"Four times, at an hour each," Ron nodded. "All within the last six months before they died – I checked. I think it's pretty obvious that she was picking their brains, trying to get information."

Hermione strode over to the window and looked out over the snowy landscape. Ron had a good guess at what she was thinking; neither one of them had ever thought that having this book published was a good idea, but they'd thought that it was relatively safe. More speculative than factual. But it seemed too much to hope for that the worst things that Ginny suffered be kept under wraps. Maybe not from the people who loved her, but it was pretty obvious that the book would be a best seller.

"We're going to have to—"

But she was interrupted by the arrival of an owl; it was obviously cold and tired, for it banged into the window, shook itself, and let out a loud, pitiful hoot. Hermione opened it, letting frigid air and the owl in. "It's from Ginny," she said, holding up the envelope. "I didn't think she'd write back," she murmured.

"I didn't know you wrote to her," he said, momentarily distracted.

She shrugged. "I didn't really think she'd read it, you know. I mentioned that we were relieved that she finally let us in a little—"

"That's for damn sure," Ron said darkly. "It's better to know than to not know."

"Right," she said. "And I felt sort of bad – none of us have written her, not even after she sent her safety symbol to your mum."

Frankly, Ron hadn't seen much evidence that Ginny wanted to have anything to do with them. But maybe Hermione had done the right thing by trying to reach out to her. _It's even a decent sized letter,_ Ron mused. He could see the lines of Ginny's handwriting – it covered most of the paper. Shifting his gaze, he watched Hermione's face for some clue as to what the letter contained. Her eyebrows winged up in surprise, her mouth dropped open a little, and then her brow knit in confusion.

"It's – wow," she said. "She's being very open." For some reason, this appeared to disturb her. "But – there's something off—"

Ron grabbed the letter out of her hand, ignoring her squeak. Normally he would respect Hermione's privacy, but after discovering what he had about Ravenna Lestrange Sennet, he was feeling more than a little raw.

"Ron, no! I promised—"

But he was already scanning the words.

_Dear Hermione,_

Thank you for your letter. As to what we spoke about over Christmas, I didn't end up using any of your tests. It wasn't necessary.

I need to know who is writing that book? I meant to ask you, but. Now I'm the one staring at the parchment, wondering what to write. Christmas was horrible, and I'm surprised you're relieved. Really surprised. And your letter came at just the right moment, too, because it made things a lot easier for me. Thank you.

Love from,  
Ginny

He felt a horrible, sick feeling in his stomach that he couldn't quite explain. The words were great -- _Maybe that's why,_ thought Ron. It was so unlike Ginny to mention both the book and what had happened over Christmas that was it any wonder that he felt a great sense of unease? He had no clue what these tests were, but that seemed innocent.

And what was made easier? He read the letter again and again, trying to figure out why he suddenly felt like he was missing something and that things with Ginny were just wrong—

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. "The lightning bolt – it isn't there!"

The moment he knew what was missing, he stared at the empty, white space that should have shown that she was safe. His stomach clenched painfully._Not again._ How many times had they told her not to neglect it? And not once had any of her letters been missing the image of Harry's scar. Was it a coincidence that this particular letter mentioned both the book and Christmas? Was she trying to tell them something?

"Let's go," he said through the sudden roaring in his ears, feeling almost calm. He grabbed her hand. "We'll go to Hogwarts first—"

"What about—"

But Ron didn't waste another moment. In the space of several seconds, they traveled from their living room to just outside the gates of Hogwarts. _Good thing they're open,_ thought Ron. He might've blasted through them. There had been endless discussion on the subject of how Ginny had been taken and kept for seventy days without any of them knowing it. One of the worst things Ron had ever done was to read the letters she'd sent to them while she was under the Imperius Curse, and the thought that maybe things were happening again almost drove him to the edge.

Hogwarts rose above them, looking more ominous and dark than it ever had before. It was full night, rather than twilight where Ron and Hermione lived, and the darkness matched his mood. So intent was he on pushing forward and pulling Hermione along behind him (he wondered if it might be easier if he just levitated her and used magic to get her to go faster), that he didn't see Hagrid's massive shape.

He plowed right into him. "Shit!" he shouted, just barely catching himself and keeping him and Hermione upright.

"Ron? Hermione?" Hagrid asked, astonished. "What're ye doin' here?"

"Where's my sister?" he asked rudely. "Have you seen her?"

"It's very important, Hagrid," said Hermione. "We need to know when the last time you saw her was. And who she was with."

"Just about an hour ago," Hagrid answered. Ron exchanged a relieved glance with Hermione, though his nerves were still on high alert. Just because she was physically at Hogwarts didn't mean she was safe. How many times had Harry proven that the school was not the haven it ought to be? What if that Sennet bitch – a _Lestrange_ – had been—

"And who was she with?" Hermione persisted.

"With – with – with," Hagrid stammered. He grimaced. "With her Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. She spends a lot of time with him," he said meaningfully. "They're probably in his rooms."

"Who is it?" Hermione asked sharply. She appeared to grow more disturbed by the second, and once Hagrid answered, Ron could understand why.

"Can' tell ye," he said. "Can' tell anyone outside of Hogwarts."

"A spell?" Hermione's voice rose with anxiety. "That's – Hagrid, that's horrible news. I don't—"

Ron didn't let her finish before he was sprinting away from Hagrid and toward the castle. _How could they be so irresponsible?_ He couldn't believe that McGonagall and the others wouldn't find that odd. What the hell was going on? Some ephemeral thought flitted across his mind, but it was gone too quickly, piled under the anger, fear, and confusion.

He left Hermione behind in the dust; she would understand that he couldn't wait for her. She was spending a lot of time alone with the professor, was she? Rage boiled under his skin, and the students were lucky that they appeared to be in their common rooms. Very few of them were out and about as Ron rushed by. The corridor was completely deserted when Ron finally came to the door leading to the Defense professor's rooms.

"_Garredius_," he said. And the hinges broke off, and the door came crashing down. Ron barely broke stride stepping over it and—

He stopped short, shock slamming into him like it was a physical thing. _Now I know what getting hit by the Hogwarts Express feels like,_ he thought dazedly, almost dropping his wand.

"Ron!" Ginny gasped. She was as good as topless -- _Thank Merlin for long hair_– and straddling someone's lap. And not just _anyone's_ lap.

His shirt was off, his trousers undone, and his hand was still resting on a delicate place on Ron's sister's body. _Harry bloody Potter._ It was too much for him. Once he was able to tear his eyes away from the sight of his best mate (whom he hadn't seen in years) pretty much glued to his sister (who usually didn't like to be touched), he backed away. Then he reversed the spell that had gotten rid of the door until it was shut again.

Ron leaned against the wall, the confusion only growing deeper, waiting for Hermione to come and explain to him what the hell was going on.


	19. Tell Me Why

Sometimes after they went flying together, Ginny had a hard time keeping her hands off of Harry. _I can't help it,_ she thought. They walked back up to the castle, several inches between their bodies, acting just as naturally as they could. But Ginny kept remembering the intense look on his face as he soared through the air at her side, and how much it reminded her of when they were alone and intimate.

Harry stopped suddenly, and looked back down the hill, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. "Think we should go visit Hagrid tonight?" he asked. The setting sun cast shadows on his face; Ginny couldn't see his eyes. "Or tomorrow?"

"Definitely tomorrow," she answered readily, grimacing. "It's just – I have a Transfiguration essay due, and I need to finish it. I'm not sure how long that will take."

"All right," he said easily, turning toward her. "Are you going to the library, or--?"

"I need to at some point," she told him. McGonagall was requiring them to reference several books and a few scrolls to complete the assignment, and _The Art of Transfiguring Animate Objects: Theory and Practice_, _Bullaber's Guide to the Animas_, and others just did not belong in her personal library. "I'm sorry. Would you stay with Arnold while I'm gone?"

"Of course," he said. After one last look toward Hagrid's hut, they resumed walking. _The stares are getting better,_ Ginny noted. Only a few of the students that lounged in the courtyard and in the Entrance Hall openly watched them. Just when their relationship had heated up, the interest in their supposed friendship had faded.

They were silent for the most part in the halls, though every once in a while, Harry would offer his sarcastic opinion on some student or other. He seemed to be particularly caustic about the group of girls from all houses who seemed to be experimenting with different hair-styling charms. "Hermione would eat them alive," he said boastfully. A few turns and staircases later and they were just outside his door.

"I hate grading essays," he said darkly, letting the heavy door shut behind him. "But if you're busy tonight with your homework…"

"Good," she smiled up at him as she passed him on her way through the door. Her cheeks heated. "That way tomorrow and this weekend we can play." They'd spent a lot of time playing, and things had only grown more heated and wonderful. Just yesterday had been especially intense, and Ginny felt a quiver of desire at the thought of it.

They'd taken a nap together. Ginny hadn't been particularly tired, but Harry had had a long night (she suspected a nightmare), and his eyes had had a bruised, weary look in them. He'd dropped off to sleep immediately, and she'd followed, despite the fact that she hadn't really taken a nap since she was a small child. But however comfortable she'd felt snug in his arms, she'd awoken to wet kisses on her neck, and desire already coiling in her belly.

It had ended with him fully on top of her, pressing against her through their clothes, and it had been the furthest they'd gone before caution had urged her slow it down. The caution hadn't, of course, stopped her from taking him in hand and making a mess of both of them. He had still been on top of her and she'd watched as he'd spurted over her shirt.

"If you keep looking at me like that, neither one of us is going to get any work done," he murmured, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ears. "And – don't get me wrong, but—"

"Yeah, I need to do homework," Ginny said regretfully. Her Charms professor was expecting her to hand in a complete chart, and then she had that damned essay. _Maybe it's best if I sit on the other side of the room,_ she thought. She grabbed her backpack from where it sat on a low table and settled herself on the floor in front of the fire.

Harry sighed with frustrated resignation, threw himself down on his ugly sofa, and summoned a pile of parchment and a quill. Ginny suppressed a grin, and vowed not to let his comments distract her; he had a tendency to be very funny while grading. She shook her head, and bent her head to the task. Her quill flew over the parchment as she entered in answer after answer in her chart.

Once she'd added the final charm, she blinked and looked up. Grimacing, she rubbed the back of her neck, and looked to the sofa. Harry wasn't there. Confused -- _where did he go?_-- she glanced around the room. Still no Harry. She hadn't even noticed when he left—

The door to the bedroom opened and Harry walked out.

"Arnold's in there wooing Calliope," he announced, plopping back on the sofa. Ginny glanced at the clock. She'd finished her charms work a lot soon than she'd expected… they had time…

"I've been thinking," she said.

He eyed her, a little smile hovering over his lips. "You know what Ron would say to that?"

"Of course," she rolled her eyes. "I lived with him for years." She got up and stretched, and ignored it when her shirt rode up, exposing her belly. "But I don't want to talk about Ron right now."

"Oh?" he said thickly.

"Yes," she replied, hiding a smile. Walking over to him, she stopped when she was only inches away from his knees. "I – well, I wanted to tell you that you have atrocious taste in furniture." She felt herself blush, but forced herself to continue. "I don't – I don't even want to sit on it."

He stared at her, confused.

"I'd rather – rather," she started haltingly. But when the words dried up, she took a deep breath and sat down on him so that she was straddling his thighs. And before he could react, she slid her fingers into his hair and kissed him. Harry responded with enthusiasm, pulling her close. His hands were everywhere: in her hair, sliding up inside her shirt and resting on her back, and stroking her thighs. Ginny responded by pulling his shirt over his head and kissing his shoulders and his neck.

He arched up against her hands, and talked to her as he did whenever they were intimate. Ginny sometimes wondered if he knew he was speaking out loud, telling her how good it felt and how beautiful she was. Suddenly, her shirt was unbuttoned and open, and his hands were on her breasts. She stroked him as he stroked her and minutes – or possibly hours – later, he finished, whispering to her all the while.

He feathered kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her jaw. "Ginny, I really think—"

But he never finished his sentence. There was a groaning, creaking sound, and time seemed to slow as Ginny turned her head in horror to watch the door to the corridor – the public corridor – lift off its hinges and be thrown to the side. And then Ron was there, wand pointed straight at them, face dark with rage.

"Ron!" Ginny gasped. Her brother's eyes widened with shock as he took in the sight and, thankfully, he didn't say a word. He just backed out of the door he'd burst through, and then fixed it.

Harry was just as frozen as she was. "He's going to kill me," he said, taking a deep breath. Ginny got off his lap and tugged at her shirt. Her fingers were shaking. "At least I'll die happy, but he's going to kill me." He got up, did up his trousers, and leaned over the edge of the sofa looking for his own shirt. "I caught him with Lavender once, and that was bad, but _this_…"

He didn't finish his sentence, and something about his fear of imminent death seemed to steady her. Her face didn't feel like someone was jabbing needles into it, anyway. "He won't kill you," Ginny said in a low voice. "I won't let him."

Harry paused while pulling his shirt over his head. "Are you not feeling well? You look like you're about to be sick."

Ginny shrugged and made a helpless gesture. Her stomach rolled and pitched. "He _saw_ us."

"It isn't anything to be ashamed of," said Harry quietly. "Embarrassed, yeah. And a bit sad that I'm going to die, but not ashamed." _And he didn't see much,_ a small voice in her head said bracingly. _He couldn't have._ "Thank God it wasn't about a minute earlier, though."

She watched as he cleaned up a bit. His hands shook a little, and the skin around his mouth was white. _Look at Harry. He has it worse than you do._ She kept repeating to herself that Ron hadn't seen anything bad. _It isn't anything to be ashamed of._ But her heartbeat did not slow, and waves of embarrassment kept crashing over her.

"Where's Arnold?" she asked, looking around for her pygmy puff. The urge to hold him was strong. He was always such a comfort to her; his little body was warm, and he always let her cuddle him…

"He's still under my bed, trying to entice Calliope," Harry said darkly. Ginny could see it vividly in her mind. A few days ago, Arnold had given up his increasingly elaborate dance, and now attempted to woo her by hiding under the bed and jumping out at Calliope when she least expected it. While Ginny didn't particularly understand—

_Focus, Ginny,_ she scolded herself. Harry was looking increasingly anxious; Ginny knew that Ron wouldn't kill him, but she couldn't deny that things were about to blow wide open. And she couldn't afford to distract herself. But she didn't have time to offer him words of comfort. Nor the inclination.

She looked at the door, and her stomach heaved. Her own _brother_ had seen her practically naked and who knows what he thought and—

Strong hands clamped around her shoulders. "Ginny, we didn't do anything wrong," he said firmly. "I swear. We care about each other," he added earnestly. "It isn't bad or shameful."

How could she explain to him that she didn't think it was shameful, and that wasn't really the issue? She pressed her hands to her heated cheeks, _hating_ that the embarrassment made her sick. _I've caught Bill and Fleur before,_ she reminded herself. _And they weren't mortified._ But memories of Malfoy Manor pressed in on her. "It's just – Harry, they were watching _all the time,_" she told him. They'd never given her any privacy, just like now when she and Harry could be doing things that made them both feel really good, people could still watch—

"At Malfoy Manor?" he guessed.

She shrugged a shoulder. _Remember the Mirror of Erised,_ she reminded herself. _And the Foe Glass._ Her enemies were gone, but the feeling of being watched and scrutinized had come back with a vengeance. "I just feel like people are watching me all the time," she admitted. "And this with Ron just…"

"Ron wasn't watching," Harry said immediately. "Trust me, I saw his face." Ginny looked up into his eyes. She found sincerity there, as well as bleak, dark rage. "Ron is nothing like them. The situation is different, Gin, I promise. Different in every way." He glanced at the door, and Ginny did too. It remained shut, and she could not help but feel that the long silence from her outspoken brother was ominous.

Not that she wanted to see him. Ron might have seen her almost naked. How could she face him after that? Why had he even come? What had possessed him to take the door of its hinges and find her here?

"I need to talk to them," Harry said absently. "I have to."

"If he's laughing—"

"Ron wouldn't laugh at you," he interrupted her. "He would never laugh at you." Ginny was forcibly reminded of that first night after Malfoy Manor. Ron had been just as strong in his assurances that if she'd told Harry not to look, he wouldn't have. But her brother had had no idea that there were ways to force people. _No one is forcing Ron to do anything. Except maybe Hermione, and that's a good thing._

"Will you make sure that he isn't?" Ginny asked. "And make sure that he didn't – didn't see anything too bad?"

"Yes," he told her. "Do you think he's right outside the door?" he asked in a low voice.

But Ginny had no idea. Frankly, she was surprised that Ron hadn't been banging on the door, demanding to be let in. It wasn't like him – unless he really was furious with Harry and had gone to get the rest of her brothers. But that wasn't like Ron, either. _What if there's been some sort of emergency? Or something?_ Confusion was rising swiftly, melding with her acute mortification. "Harry, please?"

He looked at her and nodded, the skin around his mouth tightening. "All right," he said. "Wish me luck." He pulled open the door to reveal an empty corridor, which Ginny had already half expected.

_Not a good sign._

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Hermione's legs felt rubbery and she was panting by the time she rounded the final corner. _Ron. Ginny. Ron. Ginny. I'm so not cut out to be chasing people down… why can't emergencies happen on paper? Ron. Ginny._ She was almost afraid of what she'd find – Ron wasn't exactly known by his fellow Aurors for being gentle in these kinds of situations.

She stopped so quickly that she had to catch herself on the wall to keep from falling over. "Ron?" she said cautiously. He was staring at her, expression blank. Too blank. It chilled her. "Ron, are you—"

"Ginny's fine," said Ron.

She walked up to him, staring intently, checking for signs of magical influence – enlarged pupils, and other indicators. But he appeared to be all right, and she glanced over at the door. It appeared to be in one piece. _Did he even go in? Or is there a compulsion spell around it, and that's why he isn't charging in there?_ She pulled out her wand, intending to cast a diagnostic spell, when a firm grip on her arm stopped her.

"Don't," he shook his head, grimacing. "Listen—"

"What about her symbol?" Hermione asked. "Ron, this doesn't make any sense. What the hell is—"

"She's with her symbol," said Ron, sounding dazed. "I mean – Hermione, she's with Harry. Harry's the professor." He eyed her closely. Hermione blinked at him. _What is he saying?_

"You're serious?" Hermione asked faintly. She looked from him to the door and back again. She'd lifted her hand to cover her mouth without even realizing it. "Harry's a _professor?_"

"Explain this to me," Ron said. "I know I'm trying to prove that I've got the emotional range of a cup, but this is more like a teapot or -- or a bathtub. Possibly even a--"

"I get the point," said Hermione. She softened her words by patting him on the arm. There were slight scuffling noises from the other side of the door, but she was too scattered to pay that much attention to it. Her brain was working very quickly, bringing together all the small things she hadn't really noticed. Or if she had noticed, she hadn't really understood.

"They were _kissing_," Ron said plaintively. He poked her in the arm and widened his eyes as though trying to tell her something. "It was—"

But Hermione didn't find out what it was; Ron interrupted himself, shaking his head. He glanced at the door, and Hermione saw a shadow pass over his face. Hermione had not seen Ron so conflicted in a very long time, and the more she watched him, the more she responded to it as well. _Harry is a professor. Harry and Ginny were kissing._ It didn't make sense, did it? Well – it did, but… it didn't.

The moments passed swiftly and Hermione watched as, over and over again, the door didn't open. Harry and Ginny were on the other side, behind the wood, and it was as though they were on another continent. Just as they'd been for the _last four years._Hermione recognized the growing darkness in Ron's face: anger was swiftly rising. She gripped his hand and pulled him away.

"Think of your sister," she said quietly, when he resisted. It was clear that making a big deal of this or being angry about it would be detrimental to Ginny. Glancing sidelong at Ron, she wondered just what he had walked in on, and despite the confusion, Hermione couldn't help but be glad – who would've thought that Ginny would kiss anyone?

But _Harry?_

Hermione was so occupied with her thoughts and with pulling Ron along that when she rounded the corner, she walked straight into a tall young girl with almost painfully curly hair. "Oh – excuse me. I'm so—"

But the girl didn't seem to care very much. She and her two friends exchanged glances. "You're Hermione Granger!" she said excitedly, eyes round. "You really are—"

"We thought we saw you," said one of the others, the only boy. "We were out on the grounds – and oh! Is that Mr. Weasley, too?"

"Yes. I am," Hermione said, a little taken aback. It was one thing to be recognized at the Ministry of Magic or even Diagon Alley. But these three were quite young. Ron remained silent, staring straight ahead. Despite the situation, Hermione couldn't help but be impressed at how well he was keeping himself in control. "And yes, this is Ronald Weasley. But—"

"We're so pleased to meet you," said the short girl with long hair and dreamy eyes.

The last thing Hermione needed at this moment, however, was to be ambushed by three young people, especially when the short girl reminded her so strongly of Luna Lovegood. She was afraid that Ron could explode before they had a chance to talk this out, and decide how they wanted to proceed. _And that's exactly what we have to do,_ Hermione realized. _We need to get away from Hogwarts._

"And you know Harry Potter!" the boy said, breaking into Hermione's thoughts.

"I thought I did," Ron said roughly. "Apparently not."

"Let's go, Ron," Hermione said sharply. The three students were too busy raising their eyebrows and mouthing incomprehensible words at each other to notice that they left. "We're going home. We need to talk about this—"

"Yeah, we do," he muttered. Hermione squeezed his hand and quickened her pace. They would have to tell everyone at the Burrow, of course. They might as well go straight there. _And then we can all decide how best to find the answers and approach them._

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry left Ginny, shut the door, and then slumped against the wall. His heart was racing and he felt almost overwhelmingly urgent, but he needed a moment to get a grip on himself. This morning, when he'd woken up, he'd had no idea that his life was about to get incredibly complicated. And in order to make it _less_ complicated, he was going to have to talk to Ron and Hermione. And explain to Ron why he'd had his hands up Ginny's shirt. And also tell Ron that if he made a huge deal about it, or even told his family, Harry was going to have to stop him.

Ginny had been taking huge leaps; ever since her nightmare, Harry had watched her start to – well, start to blossom. She laughed more often – Harry still kept count, but the number had almost doubled. For whatever reason (and he was well aware that he absolutely did not deserve it), he made her happy. It was the most important thing, he'd realized in the minutes since Ron had found them. More important than anything else.

But a large part of him couldn't actually believe that he was going to seek out a conversation with Ron. _And chase him down to have it, too,_ Harry thought darkly, noting the empty corridor. It hit him then that Ron had probably gone to the Burrow, and Harry's stomach dropped to his feet. _Do it for Ginny,_ he told himself firmly. He pushed himself off the wall before he could linger any longer. Ron had a head start, but Harry might be able to intercept him.

_It'll just be easier without everyone else there._

His footsteps thudded against the stone floor, cursing the fact that it was impossible to Apparate in or around Hogwarts. It amazed him that he actually felt ill at the thought of explaining himself to Ron or even seeing him. But it felt equally good. Harry contemplated this strange sensation as he sprinted around the corner, hoping—

He slammed into someone who had been standing just out of sight. "Ooof!" she said, falling onto the floor. Aisling Powell stared up at him, disgruntled and annoyed. Stuart Method and Elizabeth Barnett both reached down to help her up while Harry stared, mind still whirling.

"Sorry," he said belatedly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Powell said coolly. Harry thought she might want to say something cheeky, but the fact that he was her professor had stilled her tongue. "I'm just fine."

All three of them stared at him, and Harry felt a sinking sensation that had nothing to do with running into a student. Had Ron said something to these three? Harry couldn't imagine why he would, but if Ron had mentioned what he'd seen to the students, things were about to get a lot worse. "What'd he tell you?" Harry asked, voice coming out harsher than he intended.

"Nothing," Method said boldly, drawing himself up to his full height. Harry searched his expression, and sagged with relief when Method's eyes revealed suspicion rather than knowledge. No need for memory charms, then.

"Which way did he go?" Harry asked.

They exchanged glances. Method pointed to the left, where Harry knew there to be a staircase behind a hanging. Ron had obviously not been at Hogwarts in a while if he thought that it was faster to get outside by way of Ravenclaw Tower. "That way," he said.

"But I thought he—" Elizabeth Barnett looked confused.

"He went that way," Method repeated firmly.

"Never mind," Harry said absently, struck by an idea. "Thanks for the help," he said over his shoulder, already breaking into a run. To get to McGonagall's office. He'd floo to Grimmauld Place and then Apparate to the road just outside the Burrow. From what he remembered, that's where everyone came in. And if he could just talk to Ron by himself…

_Please, Ron. Apparate to the road, not inside. Please._

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

By the time Ron reached the gates of Hogwarts, Hermione at his side, he was no closer to knowing what the hell he felt than when he'd first seen them. Them. Together. Harry and Ginny. With every step, he wanted to turn around and go back, but what the hell was he going to say? Or do? Break down the door again? He kicked the pebbles in his path out of the way; the burning anger in his stomach continued to grow.

But it wasn't just anger. It was -- everything. And it was completely impossible for him to pluck out all the different feelings swirling inside him. They were all meshed together and blended and made him think that he wouldn't deserve his cup after all. "I just don't know," he admitted to Hermione. It was the first time either one of them had spoken since they'd left the little twitchy trio.

"Me either," she said immediately. She glanced back, and squinted back up the path. The sun had set and it was dark, but Ron had a feeling that she'd expected Harry or Ginny to come after them. But Ron knew that there was no chance that either one of them would do something like that.

Another wave of anger washed over him. "Let's go," he said tightly. Gripping the iron bars in his hands, he pulled the gate open with such force that it crashed against the post and swung closed again. "Well, that's just fucking great," he chuntered under his breath, and kicked it. He turned away, grimacing at the sharp pain in his big toe. "Fuck."

Hermione didn't say anything, but opened the gate, and then took his hand again in her slightly sweaty grip. It seemed like days had passed since they had arrived at Hogwarts. He recognized relief that Ginny was all right in the mixture of emotions. "Can you Apparate us?" Ron asked woodenly.

"Give me a minute," Hermione said. "Ron – are you all right?"

He thought about it. "No. And don't bother asking me how I'm feeling. I've got no clue, and yeah, maybe I don't deserve my cup—"

She snorted. "I don't know what I'm feeling either, Ron, it's beyond me," she told him. Strangely, this made him feel better. "We're going to the Burrow, right?" she said after a moment's hesitation.

"Yeah," said Ron, scrubbing his face with his hands. "Yeah. We are." Though what, exactly, would he tell his parents? He could just mention that he'd seen them kissing and leave it at that. Something niggled at the back of his mind, trying to penetrate the haze, but couldn't manage it.

"Ready," said Hermione. She gripped his arm tightly, turned on the spot, and pulled Ron through the compressing darkness to the road just outside the Burrow. Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulders, squared his jaw, and—

_CRACK!_

A heavy weight slammed into Ron's back, and he and Hermione were knocked to the ground in a tangle of limbs -- _too many limbs,_ he thought, disoriented. He got a mouthful of dirt and spluttered and spit it out just as soon as he caught his breath. Something still pressed down on his back; Hermione coughed and wheezed and made indignant little squeaks. There was a sharp pain in his kidney as what could only be an elbow dug into his side.

"Well." Harry's voice. "This _is_ what I wanted." In Ron's opinion, his best mate did not sound too pleased. More like a mixture of resigned and anxious, though trying to sound sardonic. Ron took his time as he got to his feet, and then pulled an equally silent Hermione up. The Burrow was further south than Hogwarts, so Ron was able to see the wariness in Harry's eyes quite clearly.

"What the fuck, Harry?" Ron said loudly. The words burst from him with great force, though they didn't relieve any of the pressure on his chest. He wanted to – he needed to do something. _Anything._ The urges to hug him and hex him were equal. But before Ron or Hermione could do anything, Harry reached out for them and spun away once more into darkness.

Ron opened his eyes to find himself in a dark forest but, other than that, having no clue whatsoever where Harry had taken them. Hermione gasped softly a few seconds later. "Is this where – this is where we had the Quidditch World Cup, isn't it?" Ron wondered how the hell she had known that.

"How the hell did you know that?" Harry asked. "Never mind," he said quickly. "Listen – I didn't know both of you—" he trailed off into silence.

Several moments later, Ron was just about out of patience. Not that he had much, but he had to admit that being ambushed by Harry and then taken to a strange forest had made it hard for him to gather his thoughts. "You didn't answer my question," he said, reaching out and poking Harry hard in the shoulder. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Ow!" Harry said. It was darker here under the canopy of trees, but Ron knew what a glare looked like even in half-light.

"You're lucky I haven't hexed you," Ron told him bluntly.

"No hexing," Hermione said sharply. "_Accio_ wands!"

And before Ron could even think about grabbing it, his wand flew out of his pocket and into her hand. Harry's followed suit, and she stuffed them down the front of her robes. Presumably she thought that Ron wouldn't go after it there; she obviously didn't know that Auror training and being the best mate of Harry Potter had drummed it into him that sometimes people just had to fucking do it. And handling Hermione's breasts was never a hardship.

Ron narrowed his eyes, attention turned back to Harry, who still hadn't said much of anything. Fine. _My turn to talk._ "I've been really patient with you," he said firmly.

Unfortunately, his opening line was ruined. "Was that the Elder Wand, Harry?" Hermione asked.

At the same time, Harry said, "Listen, I can explain." He didn't stop but ploughed on. "I know what it must have looked like to you, but it really – I care about her a lot – I would_never_ take advantage of her. And I know that—"

"_Shut up!_" Ron roared. Rage undulated over his skin. _Does he honestly think that's the issue?_ "Do you really think that's the reason why I'm really fucking hacked off at you?" Ron's palms _itched_ to grab Harry's shoulders and shake him until Harry's teeth rattled and he figured it out. "You're gone for how long? Almost four _years_?"

"Ron—"

"Let me talk, Hermione," he said. "You're gone for four years with _no contact_ except a few stupid little notes and then I find you _snogging my sister!_"

"I told you that I care about her—"

"Not the point!" Ron shouted. "THAT – IS – NOT – THE – POINT! We thought you never came back because you were trying to protect her, or because—"

"I was," said Harry. "I didn't—"

"Yeah? Then how is it that you're suddenly protecting her by kissing her and not staying away like you did with the rest of us?" Ron asked. Then, when Harry only looked confused, Ron continued. "You're around her—"

"I know I don't deserve her, but—"

Then Ron really did grab Harry and shake him, ignoring the protests and the struggle to get away. He shoved Harry away, watching him stagger backward. "Could you stop being mental for _one second?_" he said through gritted teeth. "If you can stand to be around_Ginny_, why the _fuck_ haven't you come home?"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry eyed Ron warily, letting what he had just said process. He didn't want to say the wrong thing and get shaken again. _Why hadn't he come home?_ Ron had just seen Harry snogging Ginny and the anger was stemming from the fact that he was snogging her but not what? Doing it at the Burrow?

"Ron is right," Hermione spoke up unexpectedly. Harry looked at her, still feeling that sensation of _both of them!_ that had been with him ever since he had landed on top of them. "We understand that whatever happened… changed things. We understand that you and Ginny—"

But Ron interrupted her and pointed at Harry again. "I think we've been a bit too bloody understanding." Harry watched as Hermione's lips flattened in a tight line. Both of them were angry – very angry – and Harry began to realize what he'd gotten himself into.

"I'm shocked that you were even the same room with her," Hermione added. "It means that we've been wrong about your motivation for staying away for—"

"You weren't wrong," Harry told her. He raked his hands through his hair. It was confusing to him as well. "For a long time"—his stomach clenched, and a part of him knew that the confusion and fear and happiness was going to change everything—"I thought about that, of course. But the – a lot of it was…"

He glanced at Ron, almost hoping that an angry attack would stop him from having to say anything. But his best mate didn't say anything, and with a pang of regret, Harry realized that he'd missed Ron learning how to think first and speak later. The backs of his eyes stung. "Most of it was… right after, I got the Healer and we Apparated to the Burrow." He looked down at his hands, and he could almost feel the slight weight. "And then – I just couldn't do it. I handed her to the Healer and left."

"Why?" Ron asked. "Even your insistence at not putting anyone in danger – Voldemort was _dead._ You could've at least contacted us or – or come by when she was at school. But I guess that doesn't matter, does it? You're perfectly able to be around her. It's just us." Harry winced at the bitterness in his voice.

"I didn't plan on falling in love with her," Harry said sharply. How was it possible that Ron could be so thick? Glancing over at Hermione for a little help, he saw her face set in the same resolute lines. "And really, Ron, do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Obviously, yeah," Ron said slowly.

Harry scratched the back of his neck and looked out into the night. The trees were just barely outlined; the darkness was pressing in around him, and not just the black of night. He owed them the truth, or at least part of it, and now he was standing in front of them, there was no way he was going to get out of it. But the idea of it hurt and for almost too long the words just wouldn't come.

"I thought – when I was outside," Harry began. He forced himself to look at Ron. "I knew that I wouldn't be able to look you in the eye. Or your mum, and Fred and George." He paused and scrubbed at his face with cold hands. "And your dad… especially you and your dad."

"That's mental," Ron said flatly. "Aren't you a bit old for the stupid guilt? Like I said – Voldemort was dead. There was no reason—"

"It was my fault she was there—"

"You weren't the one who abducted her or raped her," Hermione said. Her arms were tightly crossed over her chest, and Harry's stomach dropped. They weren't going to accept anything less than the truth; his instincts were screaming at him to hold back as much as he could, but already it was difficult to not blurt out everything.

"Blaming yourself is total bullshit," Ron said darkly. He had moved to stand right next to Hermione; it was like the two of them against him. And even though Harry completely understood – it was his fault – it still hurt.

"Ron, just listen," Harry said. To his horror, there was a lump in his throat and it was humiliating that they exchanged glances and softened their postures. _No crying,_ he told himself sternly, clenching his fists. "It's the truth. It isn't like – it isn't like anything else. But everything happened to Ginny because of me."

Again, Harry hoped for an angry outburst to stall things, but even though Ron grimaced and rolled his eyes, and Hermione huffed with frustration, they didn't say anything. _Why am I doing this again?_ For an instant, he wanted to run, but there were too many reasons to tell them the truth. It wouldn't be fair of him to withhold this type of information, not when he was serious about Ginny. Not to mention, Ginny aside, this was long overdue.

_I should have done this three years ago._

"Ginny was taken to be used as a weapon against me," Harry said. The other two suddenly went very still. "Not as a lure or bait or punishment. It was – everything that was done to her was because… well, Voldemort, he wanted to try to break me."

"Break you?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

Harry closed his eyes. There was a phantom pain in his scar as he imagined he was kneeling on the floor again, besieged by images, and Voldemort's thoughts and feelings. "Yeah," his voice cracked, and he clamped down on his emotions. "To break me. They picked her because – your family was associated with me—"

"By your logic, shouldn't that make it my fault, for befriending you in the first place?" Ron asked ruthlessly.

"Just listen," Harry said, a hint of a plea in his voice. _I don't want to say this._ "Voldemort intended to use everything that happened to Ginny – the worse the better – so that when we met… and the prophecy made it inevitable that it would… he could hurt me."

"But…" Ron's voice trailed off. Harry could see that some of the horror that he'd felt for almost four years was starting to hit Ron. And probably Hermione. Her head was bowed and she stared down at her clasped hands. After that single word, Ron didn't say anything.

"Harry," Hermione said in a shaking voice. "Don't listen to—"

"I didn't have to listen," Harry said abruptly, stomach rolling. "He was – it was like Sirius at the end of fifth year. Or your dad in the Department of Mysteries"—Harry ignored Hermione's gasp—"and I had to… it was in my head. All of it. For I don't know how long – maybe an hour. I couldn't close my eyes and I had to watch." He tipped his head back and blinked rapidly. "But that wasn't even the worst – I could feel what Voldemort was thinking, too. And he was watching everything – she was there for _seventy days_ -- and feeling nothing except this purpose. To make sure that I'd be just broken. Easy to kill."

With an abruptness that surprised him, his words dried up. He had brushed too close to what he _couldn't_ say. Ron and Hermione didn't say anything, and he chanced a glance at them. Hermione had her hands over her face, and Ron had turned away.

"So everything they did, it was just because he wanted to show me," Harry continued. "And they picked her because – because Draco told Voldemort how she used to – to have a crush on me. I didn't have a girlfriend, so… and Voldemort showed me that memory, too, and how it _delighted_ him that Ginny, that she—"

He was interrupted by what was, quite frankly, the last thing he expected. Hermione barreled into him and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. Stunned, he patted her awkwardly on the back; she was mumbling, but he couldn't quite understand what she was saying. Almost against his will, he looked up at Ron, afraid that he would see regret for their friendship.

Instead, Ron's eyes were wet. "All right," he said finally. "I guess you've earned the right to be mental." His mouth opened and closed, as though he wanted to say something, but had no clue how to say it. But the anger and bitterness had slipped from his face, and Harry felt relief so sharp that it hurt.

"Yeah, maybe," Harry said, after clearing his throat.

"You can look us in the eye all you want," said Ron. "I'm dead serious. I can see – well, Voldemort really fucked you over." He paused and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "He did. But—" his voice trailed away, and he shook his head and muttered something about a cup. "Just… look us in the eyes more often."

And then he too stepped forward. Hermione got out of the way just in time for an awkward, back-slapping hug that somehow managed to lift a weight off his shoulders that Harry forgot was there.

**Author's Note:**

_Sorry about the delay! I actually had a chapter written, and then it was a complete piece of shit, so I had to basically rewrite everything. I think maybe just 1000 words were salvageable. This, of course, caused bitterness and that made it difficult to write. The problem was that I originally intended for Ginny to be there -- but her presence just made people more sensitive and less able to talk. So... yes. I think this version is much better. Please drop a line and let me know what you think._

_Also, just to let you know, the initial discussion by r/hr/h isn't over yet. The opening scene of next chapter will also take place in the forest, and then... never mind. I don't want to spoil you guys. I doubt that this coming chapter will take nearly as long to write as the last one, unless I actually have to rewrite. Again. But I doubt it._

_I'm also not going to censor this story. It will continue to get sexier and sexier, and the sexuality of the characters will continue to play an important part in the plot. Sorry._


	20. How Do You Do It?

12 February 2002

The moment Ron heard Harry's halting, painful explanation, everything clicked. For years, he'd thought that Ginny's abduction was due to casual cruelty or punishment to the Weasleys for being in the Order of the Phoenix. _I should have known._ It made sense in a way that twisted at Ron's insides.

Voldemort had known Harry as well as Harry had known Voldemort, and had chosen to incapacitate Harry as best he could. Having his followers brutalize Ginny, and then throw it in Harry's face and his head was just about the best way to do it. _Except,_ Ron thought with pride, _Voldemort hadn't broken Harry. Harry and Ginny were alive, and that snake's ashes had blown in the wind long ago._

Ron slapped Harry's back again, and pulled out of the hug.

"He didn't break you, Harry," Hermione said softly.

A strange look passed over Harry's face, like he disagreed completely with what Hermione had just said. And his mouth opened as though he was about to say something, but it closed again with a grimace. Ron glanced over at Hermione; she gave her head a small shake, telling him silently not to pursue it. Ron couldn't help but agree. It would take Harry a little while to believe them.

Another wave of nausea hit, as well as impotent rage. "How could he?" Ron asked without thinking. "Just… who could do something like that? How?" Harry's words echoed in his head._It delighted him--_

"He had no clue what love was," said Harry, in a voice that was almost toneless. "He wanted to squash it completely; he was afraid of it—"

"As he should have been," Hermione said strongly. Ron had to admit that was pretty obvious, too. Regardless of what Voldemort had done and why, he was dead. Dead. Love hadn't failed. But Ron hadn't lied, either. Harry had a right to be completely mental. Frankly, Ron was surprised that Harry hadn't just let Voldemort kill him after that, though maybe Harry had gone into some sort of berserker rage.

"How'd it finally happen?" Ron asked. "How did he die?"

"I disarmed him at the same time he cast the Killing Curse," Harry said immediately. Visions of a fantastic duel imploded in Ron's mental eye. "I was the master of the Elder Wand – Draco Malfoy was the master of it, he got to Dumbledore before Snape did, and then since I disarmed Draco… the wand wouldn't work properly on me."

Despite the minimal drama – Ron would've liked to think of Voldemort going down in flames due to an avenging Harry – Ron had to admit that it fit better. It had probably been Harry's way of giving up, and quite suddenly, Ron simply didn't want to hear anymore. He groped around for a topic, trying to ignore how much it hurt that one person had inflicted so much damage on Harry and Ginny, two of the people Ron loved the most besides Hermione.

"So," he said somewhat desperately. "You and my sister? How did that happen?"

Hermione gave him a sharp look, but it faded into one of understanding. "I'm really cold," she said before Harry could speak. She reached into her robes and pulled out Ron's wand, tossing it to him. "Can we – let's go to our place." For a brief moment, Harry looked torn, but he didn't pull away when Hermione gripped his hand and turned on the spot.

One second passed, and Ron was just preparing to turn and join them when it hit him. It wasn't anything he hadn't already realized. But Harry's presence and Hermione's steadfast place at his side had been like a buffer. Now, however, he was alone in dark, cold woods, and knowledge was like a poisonous cloud hovering over him.

Ginny, young and vulnerable, had been brutalized in both body and mind. Ron had been there when the Healer had catalogued her wounds. And Harry… he had just as many faults as a normal bloke, but his biggest one was feeling guilty over every little thing. He had such a huge freaking blind spot when it came to blaming himself for situations so far out of his control that what Voldemort had done to him… Ron couldn't think of a way that could possibly torture him more.

"_Confringo!_" Ron shouted as loud as he could. A jet of light arced out of his wand and several trees exploded. It helped, and when he finally Disapparated, he felt less shaky.

Hermione was giving him a tour of their home, babbling nervously all the way. Ron decided not to join them, but grabbed a few butterbeers and waited in the living room. As soon as Harry rounded the corner ("And that's all the rooms," Hermione babbled.), Ron tossed him the cold bottle.

"Thanks," said Harry. "It's a nice home."

"You aren't even… surprised that we're living together?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"You're kidding, right?" Harry asked in disbelief. "Neither one of you did a bang up job trying to hide your feelings. After Ron's jealous tantrum at the Yule Ball—"

"What about you and Ginny?" Ron asked loudly. That took the smirk right off Harry's face._I've still got it,_ Ron thought smugly. It was nice to know there was still plenty of common ground.

"Well…" said Harry. And then he launched into a fumbling explanation that was almost difficult for Ron to follow. Remus had kicked his arse, and his words had inspired Harry to take the position at Hogwarts – not knowing, of course, that Ginny was there. And then, because of a mixture of Hagrid and Arnold, they stopped being uncomfortable and avoiding each other. "And then we started flying together," he continued. "And I realized how lovely she is." For some reason, this made Harry turn bright red.

"Er – that's great," said Ron, because he felt like he had to say something. He stretched out his legs, and cracked open his second butterbeer. Harry looked relieved, as though he'd thought Ron was about to hit him.

"And then I realized I'd fallen for her on Christmas," said Harry. He ruffled his hair and took a long pull from his drink. "Hit me like the Hogwarts Express."

"Christmas?" Hermione asked, a note of surprise in her voice.

"Yeah," he said. "After I heard George tell Remus what happened—"

"That's right!" Ron sat upright. "Dora said you disappeared – you went to Ginny, didn't you?" More and more pieces were flying together. Harry hadn't fled because he hadn't been able to handle hearing or seeing one of them; he'd gone to Ginny. He sort of wanted to tell Harry that he was mental again – he was helping her, not hurting her – but felt that would be out of place. "Mum and Dad are going to—"

Harry's feet banged down on the floor. "Listen, you can't tell them," he said earnestly.

_What?_

"What?" Ron asked blankly.

"Not until you talk to Ginny," Harry said firmly.

"But—"

"It's her decision to make," Harry interrupted Hermione. Ron wanted to argue, he really did. And maybe he would have if he weren't still reeling quite so badly. The feeling that it wasn't fair to keep his mum and dad in the dark was strong… but so was the instinct to listen to Harry. Harry who must've caused the change in her, who had helped her heal enough to laugh. And frankly, Ron had never thought that Ginny would have a relationship, and yet here Harry was.

Still.

"I'm not waiting forever," Ron said warningly.

"I know," Harry said quietly, fiddling with his bottle.

Ron stared at it for a while before he realized that the same question he'd had all night was still bothering him. But it was entirely different; he wasn't angry that Harry was with Ginny. Tilting his head back, he tried to figure out what it meant. Harry had said that he hadn't meant to fall in love with Ginny, but how had it happened? After Malfoy Manor, how had either one of them gotten close enough to let it happen?

"How did it happen?" Ron asked bluntly. "Not saying it isn't a good thing," he hastened to add. "But after what happened, I would've thought you'd avoid her for the rest of your life. Admit it, you like to brood."

"I dunno, she's like a patronus or something," Harry said, shrugging, looking very uncomfortable. "When I'm with her, I just don't think about it." Not meeting Ron's eyes, he glanced at his watch and stood up. "I need to go…"

They said their goodbyes, and Harry left and, later, Ron couldn't sleep. His mind was still reeling from everything that had happened, and everything that he'd found out. _I never would have guessed._ He stroked Hermione's hair, knowing that she was still awake, too. "I never would have guessed," he said out loud.

She didn't reply with words, but reached under her pillow and set a cup on his chest.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

13 February 2002

A combination of exhaustion and anxiety led to Ginny falling asleep in Harry's bed, waiting for him to return. It hadn't taken too long for her to regret forcing Harry to go by himself. Once she'd had a chance to sit quietly and think things over, she'd been able to overcome the embarrassment and memories, and realize that the situations had been completely different.

It threw her, however, that Harry was gone for so long. She'd run to the library, got the books she needed for her essay, and practically sprinted back, expecting him to be there. But the hours passed, and she jotted down her essay blindly – one eye had been on the door, the other had been on his hearth, in case he used the floo.

Eventually, she simply couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, and she stumbled into his bedroom, digging around in his wardrobe for a shirt. _He won't mind,_ she assured herself, climbing into his bed. Arnold rolled over to nestle in her hair. "G'night, Arnold. G'night Calliope," she murmured, and closed her eyes.

It seemed like only moments later that someone flopped onto the bed, hand colliding with her shoulder. "Ow!" she squeaked, eyes popping open to find it did no good: it was still pitch dark.

"Ginny?!" Harry said. "Sorry – but—"

"Harry, finally!" she said. "What happened?"

"I'm still not exactly sure how it happened," he answered immediately, his voice laden with surprise. "Ron was really angry at first…"

Ginny reached out and stroked his back – realizing, with slight surprise, that he wasn't wearing a shirt – while he told her how they'd already left Hogwarts by the time he left the room. And that he'd Apparated to the Burrow and landed on top of them (she couldn't help but laugh); and he'd taken them to where they'd seen the Quidditch World Cup (Ginny refrained from asking him why he'd chosen there, of all places). And how he'd explained, and—

"I'm a little…" his voice trailed away. "Overwhelmed. I'm a little overwhelmed that they were so… forgiving."

Ginny suspected that he'd been more transparent about what had happened at Malfoy Manor than he was letting on. _It was probably for the best that I wasn't there,_ thought Ginny, though it made her a little sad. She continued to stroke his back with long, circular strokes. "They missed you quite a lot," she said. "We all did." She scooted closer to him, wishing she could see him.

To her surprise, he pulled back a little. "You're – are you still embarrassed? Because he didn't see anything. He was just mad that I was with you but didn't see him, too. That's all it was."

"No – I wasn't being very rational," Ginny admitted. She moved closer to him again. Again, he moved away. _He's going to fall off the bed._ "I really am all right," she told him. "Really. I just had to… remind myself." She trailed her fingers down his side, feeling his skin quiver. "And I—"

"I'm naked!" Harry blurted out. "I didn't know you were here, and…"

Ginny had the feeling that he was very embarrassed, though she didn't know why, exactly. It was completely dark and she couldn't see him. Not that she hadn't before. "I've seen you naked before," she confessed. It hadn't occurred to her that he might be shy about it. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help—"

He interrupted her with an open-mouthed kiss that immediately sent heat flaring through her body. Almost as abruptly, he pulled away and fumbled on his nightstand for something, and mumbled under his breath. "There," he said. "_No one_ can get in now," he told her. And despite the fact that she'd gotten over Ron barging in on them, she couldn't help but feel a bit relieved.

"Thank you," she said, and reached out in his direction, pulling his mouth toward hers again. His tongue tangled with hers, and suddenly his right hand was everywhere: her back, her bum, her breasts. They were both panting by the time he pulled her flush against him; his erect penis pressed into her belly.

Her leg stroked his restlessly as she cupped his bum and pulled him closer to her. "You have the most amazing hands," he groaned against her mouth. The haze of desire settled further, and her leg moved higher until it was crooked over his hip.

_His shirt is in the way,_ Ginny thought dazedly.

As though he read her mind, he ran his hand up her calf and thigh, bunching up his shirt as he went until it twisted around her waist. "Your skin is so smooth," he told her huskily, moving and pressing hot kisses on her neck. She arched up and moaned when she rubbed against his penis. He slid his hand inside her knickers and kneaded her bum, pulling her closer.

Ginny wasn't quite sure who moved first, but quite suddenly, he lay fully on top of her, and the feeling of his penis as he rocked against her was a hundred times better than her hand or her pillow. He murmured a stream of words in her ear, but she couldn't pay attention. But just the sound of his voice kept her grounded, and she was soon lifting her hips to meet his. The fabric of her knickers was a tad abrasive, but she just didn't care.

It took several moments before she realized that Harry wasn't just talking to her, but was asking a question. "Please," he said. "Please let me. Ginny? Ginny. Please?"

"What?" she asked, frustrated when he stopped moving. "Let you what?"

"Well…" he panted. "Touch you."

_Wasn't he already touching her?_ His penis was pressed right up against her clitoris. He couldn't really touch her more intimately unless he—

His hand went between their bodies and inside the front of her knickers, stopping only when they brushed against her hair. She gasped and rolled her hips, hoping he would take that as a _yes_ and she wouldn't have to say it out loud. A moment passed, and then he groaned.

She flinched at his first truly intimate touch; she didn't want to, but for just a second she expected pain. "Don't," she said, when he froze, stroking his arm. He moved his fingers again, tentatively, and she opened her legs a bit wider. _This is good,_ she told herself. Just a few hours earlier, she'd wondered when she would feel comfortable enough, but maybe all it took was darkness, and Harry asking her if he could.

His weight lifted off her, and she could tell that he'd moved to kneel between her thighs. Her face heated up, and she was glad it was completely dark. He stroked her gently, conducting a private exploration. Anxiety mixed with her desire, even as he probed at her opening and slipped a finger inside.

"You're wet," he said quietly, wonder in his voice, dipping in and out of her.

She ignored her slight unease, and lifted herself up on one elbow and reached out for him. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath the moment she wrapped her hand around him. His penis twitched beneath her hand, and he thrust into it, mumbling incoherently. It didn't matter that she couldn't understand him… she just liked the sound of his voice.

Her hand ran over the now familiar contours of his erection, and she stroked him as he stroked her. His shuddering and murmurs and thrusts were more arousing than the way he moved his fingers.

He grunted, and his penis pulsated as he climaxed. "You're so…" he said. "Wonderful. Just wonderful."

Ginny closed her eyes, focusing on the sensations his fingers were causing. Instead of sending her further into arousal, however, anxious little thoughts kept holding her back. _I should've finished too,_ she thought. _How come I haven't? He did!_

Harry seemed oblivious, but kept stroking and exploring. Patient as always. And the more the minutes passed, the more hopeless it seemed. _I'm broken,_ she thought dismally.

Finally, he stopped, sighing. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't be, it's me," she interrupted him, grateful once again that the darkness was complete. Tears had sprung up in her eyes, and she could tell by the sound of his voice that he felt bad. "I'm just… it's stupid. I want to, but I'm—"

He pressed a finger over her lips. "It isn't anything to do with you. I'll get better," he said bracingly. "I promise. I want to make you feel the same way you make me feel… I'm not going to give up." He lay down next to her and pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I won't," he said, yawning.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

13 February 2002 – 25 February 2002

The first thought Harry had upon waking (naked, and with Ginny snoring lightly beside him) was that he really, really needed to spend a lot of quality time with his sex book. But even though he hadn't pleasured her the way he'd wanted to, he couldn't help but feel extraordinarily happy. Seeing Ron and Hermione… revealing part of what happened, and them not hating him… touching Ginny's vagina…

Yesterday had been a good day.

Unfortunately for Harry, his good mood did not last very long. Ginny had to leave, for one – never a good thing, but he was getting a bit resentful at the fact that he had to hide his feelings for her. And then, conversely, he realized as she left and he was frantically trying to get everything done before class, that he had precious little time to make a good study of the book. _Maybe I'm a little paranoid, but I don't want to be reading it when she could walk in at any moment,_ he thought as he soaped his hair.

He supposed he could take it to the bathroom with him, but wouldn't that get a little suspicious? And it would be embarrassing, for sure, if he suddenly started doubling his time in the loo. Right now, the book was hidden under his bed, right next to the broom polishing kit he'd gotten her for Valentine's Day—

_Broom polishing kit!_

Harry stared, wide-eyed, at his bed, pausing in the act of pulling on his robes, as if he could see through the bedclothes and mattress to where he'd hidden her gift. _What was I thinking?!_ He'd ordered it right after she'd unknowingly tortured him by polishing her Nimbus 2121 right in front of him, but now… there was no chance that she would miss the connotation. Just a few days ago, he'd mentioned a broom (in the context of flying, initially), but the moment he'd said it, her face had turned red.

_I might as well have gotten her a trick wand that shoots off sparks after she's handled it a while,_ he thought darkly.

Most of the rest of the day was taken up by either fretting over his horrific Valentine's Day gift (and it was their first; he'd always thought the day was pretty stupid, but it was important to witches, right?), and Harry dimly realized that it was almost better this way. He could worry about getting a stupid gift for his girlfriend, ignoring how everything had changed in the last few days.

His words to Ginny hadn't been a lie: he was overwhelmed. And it wasn't until early the next morning, (Valentine's Day) that he finally came up with a suitable gift that did not have heavy sexual connotations. And it didn't even bother him much that he had to rouse the Minister of Magic out of bed to get it for her.

The result of his day of anxiety was actually rather anticlimactic, Harry thought. Though of course he began it by babbling like a moron.

He slammed the door shut behind her in his eagerness to get it over with. Her eyes widened. "Listen, I know it's just rubbish, but I – I couldn't even – I didn't have time." In order to stop himself from talking, he thrust the piece of paper at her. "I know it isn't that great – I had something else but I"--_realized you might take it the wrong way_—"thought this would be better," he finished lamely.

"I don't even know what you're—" she began, but then her eyes widened. "Today is Valentine's Day!" she said, shocked. Absurdly, Harry felt a little bubble of relief. "Harry, I forgot, I'm so—"

But Harry interrupted her with a kiss. "Don't be," he said, grinning. "It takes all the pressure right off, trust me."

"You're sure? I don't have anything for you…"

"It really isn't necessary," he murmured. In the space of a second, Harry mentally catalogued all the things she did for him. Made him laugh, made him feel more alive than he had in years, gave him a reason to be eager to get out of bed in the morning (unless she stayed over, of course), and brightened his waking hours. And then, suddenly, it was on the tip of his tongue. _I love you,_ he thought.

"—is it? Harry?" Ginny prodded him, the exasperation in her tone making it clear that she'd been trying to get his attention. "What is it?"

"It's where I live," he said. "I had it under the Fidelius Charm," he explained. "Open it up. As soon as you read it, you'll remember spending a summer there… and the Christmas when your dad was hurt." He nervously flattened his hair, then remembered that today was absolutely no big deal to her -- _thank Merlin_ -- and it didn't really matter.

He watched as the secret sank in, and her furrowed brow smoothed over. "That was an awful Christmas," she said, but a little half-smile hovered on her lips. Harry winced, remembering it. Arthur's attack at the Ministry of Magic, and then Harry's attempt to leave and return to the Dursleys (and having to be dragged back by a furious Mad-Eye Moody).

"It's just – if you ever want privacy, you can go there," he told her. "I don't have to be there." He wanted to make that clear to her.

Ginny still didn't look up, but traced the words Kingsley Shacklebolt – Harry's Secret-Keeper – had scribbled hurriedly down. "Thank you," she said finally, her voice very quiet. She stepped toward him and hugged him, nuzzling his chest. "I guess Valentine's Day isn't quite so stupid after all."

Chuckling, Harry put his arms around her. "Next time, I won't get you anything," he promised.

She leaned back, peering up at him. "What was the other one? The gift?" she asked. "Not that I'm being greedy," she said in a rush. "I'm just curious."

_A broom polishing kit. Because you used to torment me._

"It wasn't really anything," he said evasively.

"Tell me," she said, squeezing his arm. Her eyes were narrowed, and he had the sinking suspicion that she was on to him.

"No," he replied. And then her cheeks flushed bright red – generally a sure sign that Harry was really going to like what she was about to do, especially in a situation like this – and slid her hand under the waistband of his trousers and stroked his bum with her fingernails.

_Damn,_ Harry thought glumly.

"Please?" she said.

"A broom polishing kit," he admitted.

For a brief moment she looked confused, then the meaning hit her, and her mouth turned up in a smile that was a mixture of sly and shy. He stroked her back.

"Think I need it?" she asked. Her tone was light, but held a hint of vulnerability in it.

"Absolutely not," he assured her. "You're a lot better at it than I am."

Over the next week, those words were proven again and again. Harry knew that he aroused her, but every time he touched her intimately, she tensed up, and he couldn't get her to climax. Sometimes he thought this was due to his minimal range of motion (her knickers got in the way, but he wasn't sure she wanted him to take them off of her); other times he blamed the lack of time he had to study his sex book the way he wanted to.

Mostly, though, he was determined. Every time she initiated their intimacy, he would tell himself that this time it would work. And even when his hand got a little sore, he kept at it until it became obvious that it just wasn't going to work.

_It doesn't help that I keep reading ahead,_ Harry thought., flipping through the pages in the book. It was late in February, and the second Quidditch match of the year was right around the corner. Ginny practiced for hours every day; most days, he watched at least some of it. But today he'd brought his book outside to an isolated spot by the lake that afforded both privacy and a good view of the team practicing.

He lingered over the page that described, in detail, oral sex. Harry couldn't help but be very grateful that the book was clinical, rather than pornographic, as he might not be able to handle moving illustrations of what he wanted to do. Ever since he'd gone past the instructions on what one did with their hands, the idea of kissing Ginny there had gripped him. He knew her scent… now he wanted to know her taste, but he hadn't even managed to get her to take her knickers off.

_It's just for later,_ he assured himself. But his eyes glazed over as he stared down at the page, and the image of himself doing everything the book said just wouldn't let him alone. His head between her thighs—

"Professor Potter?"

A young voice rudely interrupted his thoughts, and it was like being doused with icy water. Harry dropped his book and stared around in confusion, finding Stuart Method, Aisling Powell, and Elizabeth Barnett. _Are they everywhere?!_ Harry found them around every damned corner and—

_The book!_

Harry hurriedly picked up his book and shoved it inside his robes. "What is it?" he asked harshly. All three took a step back, and regarded him with suspicion. It took a huge effort to replace the scowl on his face with the semblance of a welcoming smile. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked, remembering just in time not to grit his teeth.

"Er – no," Method said, eyes wide. He was staring at the place where Harry had hidden his book as he backed away. "We'll just – leave you alone. See you in class tomorrow."

_Of course I'd get caught reading a sex book by one of my students,_ Harry thought bitter, feeling betrayed. This spot by the lake was supposed to be secluded and hard to find. _Of course._

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

28 February 2002

Ginny was so flustered that morning that she was halfway down to breakfast before she realized she'd left Arnold in her room. Stomping back up the stairs, she tried to figure out why. And then she laughed. _Everything_ seemed stressful. Quidditch. Her upcoming NEWTs (which she didn't care about as much as she ought to). The fact that Ron had given her an ultimatum: tell the family about Harry by Easter, or he would do it for her (not to mention that she and Harry were going to spend the next Saturday with Ron and Hermione). Her physical problems – she could orgasm just fine on her own, but not with Harry.

It was no wonder that she'd forgotten about Arnold, even though it made her feel guilty. "I'm sorry, Arnold," she said, bursting into the room. Her pygmy puff was just where she left him, and she thought she could see hurt and accusation in his big eyes. _I've been neglecting him._ They'd both just been so busy with Harry and Calliope…

For long moments, she stroked him as he rolled around happily. It had been just the two of them for so long, and now she and Harry practically had joint custody over both the pygmy puffs. And it was great, and Ginny was happier than she could remember being, but the adjustment caused a bit of a pang.

"All right," she said finally. "Let's go."

After a bit of a jerky start, the day passed with ease, until she was cornered after her last class by Pollux Sennet. It happened so quickly that Ginny couldn't even prepare herself for his hands capturing hers, and his breath hot in her ear. And he was so close so suddenly, that her mind went blank and the only thing she could do was cringe away.

"Haven't seen you in a while," he crooned. "Not so brave when you can't get to your wand, are you?"

"S—s—" she stammered, and hated herself for it.

"You'll be happy to know—"

But thankfully she didn't find out what she'd be happy to know. Swift, clacking steps sounded from around the corner, coming closer. Sennet's ugly face twisted into a grimace, and he shoved her away from him. Ginny caught herself against the wall, ducked her head, and walked as quickly as she could, barely even grunting when Professor McGonagall offered her greetings.

The bathroom was blessedly empty.

Ginny splashed cold water on her face and pressed her hands over her eyes. Part of her was furious with herself for freezing – last time she'd turned it right around on him. But the other part of her had seen Draco Malfoy's face rather than Pollux Sennet's, and her stomach heaved and rolled and barely held on to its contents.

The encounter put her into a foul mood that not even Quidditch practice could distract her from. And when she walked into Harry's rooms, she almost regretted it.

"Bad practice?" he asked. The sympathy in his voice rankled.

"It was fine," she said.

"Do you want to go flying?"

Ginny actually had to bite her lip to keep from shouting at him. _I'm not made of glass!_ And even though she'd completely frozen up, she wasn't. She was better, damn it. "No," she said shortly, pulling out her homework and sitting on the sofa. A part of her knew that she was being unfair to him, but suddenly he seemed too solicitous.

He allowed her to leave an hour later without even kissing her, and all the way back to her dorm, Ginny fumed over that. Suddenly, all the events of the past weeks were in sharp relief. _She_ always touched him first. _She_ almost always initiated the kissing. And while that used to be comforting, she hated that he obviously thought that she would fly off the handle if – Merlin forbid – he actually took the initiative.

_I'm not made of glass._

She repeated that to herself like a mantra. It followed her up to her dorm, it inspired her to pull out a piece of parchment, grit her teeth, and force herself to, letter by letter, write a short note to her dad. And it felt like she was writing it with a blood quill, but she did it anyway. And then she went to the owlery and sent it before she could stop herself. _I'm not afraid anymore, _she reminded herself. _I'm not made of glass._


	21. Sick Bastards Author's Note

Sorry for doing this, but I wanted people to know that it's sick assholes like this that make writing a story with sensitive issues a chore.

The following review has been submitted to: Here Comes the Sun Chapter: 20

From: yo 454 ()

too predictable. using rape to manipulate emotions. Ginny having happy monkey  
sex with Harry and being hickey do with him plowing his whammy and fondling  
her breasts. Also nobody seem to know Harry Potter being at Hogwarts despite  
him being famous. And I'm curious that Harry needs to wank off periodically  
instead gathering a harem of butt buddies.

Bit unbelievable with the whole rape Ginny party going on. You'd think the  
bad guys would do a more thorough job like bite off her nipples and mutilate  
her sex organs. Or cut off her head and stick their phallus into her eye  
socket. Doesn't appear to be any permanent physical damage? She seems to get  
over it pretty quick.

Anyways I think I know where this story's going. Sennet's gonna get his.  
Ginny and Harry makes a zillion babies and they live happily ever after. True  
love forever.

Best wishes. Update soon!

P.S. I very dearly would like to see more scenes describing Ginny and Harry  
having wicked awesome intercourse. I find it especially stimulating and  
entertaining as I have nothing better to do then to read well written erotic

--  
Do not reply to this email. If the review is signed, use reply link provided  
above.

So really. I just want to say, in as public a forum as I can, how much of a sick fucker I think this guy is.


	22. I Should Have Known Better

02 March 2002

Molly hung the wash on the line, lifting her face and breathing in the cold air. There was a hint of spring in the wind; change lent a special quality to the wind. Somewhere, buds were forming, and in a few weeks, the orchard would be alive with blossoms. The weak winter light grew stronger every day. _The sun is coming,_ she reminded herself.

And so too, it seemed, in her family. It wasn't as raw and bitter as before. It was still very painful to think about Ginny and the way she'd left the Burrow, still in her dressing gown, on Christmas morning. But life managed to happen anyway, and it was easier than Molly expected it to be to find joy in small things like Teddy Lupin losing a tooth, or her own granddaughter having her first bouts of accidental magic.

Maybe it was simply because she'd gotten used to living in a world where Death Eaters had raped her daughter with her husband's body.

"Hello, Molly."

"Hello, Hermione, dear," Molly murmured, staring blindly at the spangled sheets blowing in the wind. Tears stung her eyes.

"How are you?" Hermione asked softly, reaching out and rubbing Molly's shoulder.

"I'm… having a particularly bad day," Molly admitted. She busied herself with putting a few jumpers and a pair of trousers on the line. All of their robes already hung up beside the sheets. "I know that today just isn't anything, but I keep thinking—"

"Ginny is dating someone," said Hermione abruptly.

Molly dropped Arthur's ridiculous lilac leisure suit. "What – Ginny is dating?" She stared at Hermione. It just… didn't make sense, did it? Ginny, who couldn't stand to be touched, was dating?

"She is," Hermione nodded sharply. "She asked me about it around Christmas, you know. That's why she wanted to talk to me, remember? She wanted to know if there were ways to find out if someone had feelings for her or not."

Molly's first instinct was to be horribly, shamefully angry with Hermione. _I'm her mother!_ was her first, fierce thought. It seemed wrong that her daughter was confiding in Hermione, and not in Molly. After six sons, she'd imagined that a daughter would be—

"That's wonderful," Molly said in a wobbly voice. And it was. The fact that Ginny was dating of all things should overshadow useless, irrational jealousy. It wasn't Hermione's fault that Ginny could open up to her… it was a good thing her daughter had someone to talk to. "Just – surprising." She pursed her lips. "Did she ask you not to tell me?"

"Yes," Hermione said at once. "But that wasn't very fair of her. This is a big deal; we all know it. She knows that it's a big deal."

A cold wind whipped through and set the clothes and sheets to waving madly. Molly watched them sway and dance, and felt very tired of feeling so helpless all the time. Just the other night, she'd had twisting, turning, confusing dreams in which she'd gone into a fairy tale and retrieved the Tears of Merlin, and sent her own memories back to keep herself from sending Ginny back to Hogwarts. And the worst part was that she'd woken from the dream, wishing it were true.

_Spring is coming,_ she reminded herself again.

"I think he's really helping her," Hermione said. "He—"

"Molly! _MOLLY!_"

Arthur's voice was loud. One hand pulled her want out of her pocket, and the other flew to her mouth as she whirled around. The fear that something – anything – had happened to her family thundered through her veins. _Arthur never shouts. It must be bad if he's shouting--_

"—letter!"

_What?_

"What?" she shouted back, although by this point, she was already to the back door, heart thumping.

"Ginny wrote me a letter!"

Molly stopped in her tracks and gaped at him. The words flowed over her, and after all her thoughts, it just seemed completely bizarre. She opened the door and entered the warmth of her kitchen, and the look on her husband's face was like a punch to the gut.

It was painful how happy and excited he looked, just from receiving a letter from his daughter. A letter was such a simple thing, damn it, and a daughter writing to her father just shouldn't be something like a miracle.

"What does it say?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know – haven't looked yet," said Arthur. His lips were trembling, and watching him was almost too much for Molly. Maybe if she didn't love him so much, or hadn't been married to him for so long, she would have turned away. But as it was, his vulnerability and excitement – both of which stemmed from his grief and rage – was almost unbearable to see.

No one said anything, and almost a full minute passed before he gently opened the scroll and with slow, deliberate movements, he unrolled it.

"Dear Dad," he read. He hesitated for long moments, and then continued. "'School is going well, but I'm not looking forward to taking the NEWTs. How many did you get? I forget.'"

"You got six, didn't you, Dad?" Ron interjected from where he stood beside the . "Or was it five…"

"Seven," said Arthur. "Your mum got eight. Smart witch," he added, making an obvious effort to be casual.

_He's stalling,_ thought Molly. "Here," she said, holding out her hand. "Let me read it."

_Dear Dad,_

School is going well, but I'm not looking forward to taking the NEWTs. How many did you get? I forget. I almost wish that Hermione was around, even though she'd be fanatic about forcing me to study--

"You would be," said Ron, smirking.

Hermione huffed. "I wouldn't be _that_ bad," she told him, but she was smiling a little. Molly looked over at Arthur, he didn't say a word, but he was looking out the window, toward the distant mountains. She wondered if writing the letter was as difficult for Ginny as listening to it was for Arthur. But then she noticed that the punctuation at the end of every sentence was thick with ink, and thought that Ginny must've held her quill there for a long time, wondering what to say next.

_I wish I could just play Quidditch. You know how I like to fly. Do you remember the first time I ever flew by myself, and Mum was so angry with you? I'm sure that she never guessed that I'd still like to fly. Which I do. I love to fly. But maybe not for five hours every day, which is what our captain is making us do. Not a bad thing, I guess, but he very much wants us to beat Hufflepuff (which is not exactly a key match, as they've lost rather spectacularly). He is more the Oliver Wood type captain than the Harry Potter type captain--_

Ron snickered. "I'll bet he loves that," he said.

"Who does, dear?" Molly asked absently, thinking very quickly. _She mentioned the captain a lot – is this who she is dating?_ It was logical, she supposed. They may have bonded over Quidditch. She looked up in time to catch a strange look that passed between Ron and Hermione.

"Er—"

Molly searched his face. His ears were bright red, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable. _He knows something I don't,_she decided, then turned to eye Hermione. It was obvious that Ginny felt more comfortable when they didn't know anything about what she was doing and what was going on in her life – in her darker moments, Molly wondered if this stemmed from when they hadn't known what was going on with her, and they should have.

Hermione turned pink.

"Never mind," Molly said quietly. Their reaction solidified her suspicion that the object of Ginny's affections was the Gryffindor captain. _He must be a very nice boy… Hermione said he's helping her._ Molly couldn't help but think this must be true; Ginny had mentioned Harry, after all. And she'd written to her dad.

Whatever was happening with her daughter, she didn't want it to stop. So instead of pressing them for information, she took a deep breath and began to read again.

_He is more the Oliver Wood type captain than the Harry Potter type captain. Which means that even I can sometimes get tired of flying.--_

"Wow, who would've thought?" Ron asked.

"Hush, Ron," Hermione said.

_Arnold is doing well. He has met a lady pygmy puff, but she's playing hard to get, which means that he is much moodier than you would expect. He has tried several different (elaborate) ways of getting her attention, but so far he has been unsuccessful. Then he insists on mooning over her for the rest of the time. You'll find him quite changed when you see him next, unless Calliope (the lady pygmy puff) relents._

Tell the others I said hello.

Love from,  
Ginny

"The safety sign is there?" Arthur asked. "She isn't being forced to write this to me?"

Molly's eyes immediately went to the lightning bolt at the bottom of the note. It was there, thank Merlin, but Ginny must have been angry when she drew it, because it had been drawn so heavily, that the tip of her quill had punctured the parchment.

"It's there," she said.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

03 March 2002 – 07 March 2002

Harry never mentioned Ginny's abrupt departure a few nights before, and that sparked something inside her that she had a hard time ignoring. There was a flickering unease that was steadily growing. And even though the last thing she wanted to do was be irritated with Harry, when she was alone in her bed, she kept going over the little things, feeling like she was missing something important. And a part of her was certain that when she _did_ find out, she wasn't going to like it.

Little reminders of her vague dissatisfaction kept cropping up in ways she didn't expect. Such as in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, and listening to Demelza's shy boasting.

"The Room of Requirement is a wonderful place," Demelza said. Ginny glanced at her in the mirror; her expression was slightly smug and mostly blissful. "He dragged me off before I even finished dinner."

"He's that randy?" Emma asked, squeezing toothpaste out on her toothbrush, and popping it in her mouth. "'E can' eben wai?"

Demelza glanced sidelong at Ginny; to Ginny's relief, she didn't stop talking, nor did she mention that Ginny was listening. "Well – since we've started doing it, he wants it all the time." The bright smile on her face indicated that she had no problem with this course of action.

And if Harry wanted to do that, Ginny couldn't envision herself disliking it. She didn't want him to carry her out of the Great Hall, for sure, but she wouldn't mind if he gave an indication that he wanted to be intimate. He kissed her often enough, but he never really did anything with the erections she knew he had unless she touched him.

"Good night," she said abruptly, leaving Demelza and Emma to their gossip.

She'd tested this theory. They'd been on the sofa, and they'd been kissing very heatedly, and Ginny had _seen_ the bulge in his trousers. Not only that, but she'd felt it. So there was no denying that he'd wanted her and desired her, but when she'd pulled away without touching him, he hadn't even tried to stop her. Again.

The next night, Ginny came out of a particularly rough Quidditch practice to find that Harry wanted to go flying.

"Well… we haven't been flying for a while," Harry said, glancing almost forlornly at his Firebolt.

Ginny's bum hurt. Her back hurt. Her fingers were numb, and her gloves were becoming worn and thin, so her palm was developing a blister. But she would have gone if he really, really wanted to. "If you want to," she said uncertainly, trying (but failing) to inject some enthusiasm into her voice.

He backed down quickly. "No, no. It's fine."

_The worst thing is,_ Ginny thought later, _the fact that it seems like if I don't want to do something, he automatically doesn't want to do it either._ In a distant way, it was almost as though she was in a relationship with someone under the Imperius Curse, which was something she absolutely did not want. Harry was his own person, certainly, but in their relationship he almost wasn't.

He kissed her when he was absolutely certain she wanted to be kissed. He flew when he knew she wanted to fly. And looking through this new lens, Ginny saw that their relationship had _always_ had this one-sided nature. It was as though he had to have her explicit permission to do anything.

Two days after Harry had wanted to go flying, Ginny was still thinking about it as she had her breakfast in the Great Hall. And so distracted was she that her parents' owl had landed, she'd retrieved her letter and opened it before it really processed that it must be her father's reply.

_Dear Ginny,_

I'm glad to hear you are doing well. Don't let stress over the NEWTs take away your enjoyment of your last year at school. Don't tell your mum (or Hermione) I said this, but getting NEWTs is not as important as other things. Besides, I'm sure a smart witch like you will have no trouble.

Love,  
Dad

Along with the initial cringe of hearing directly from him, Ginny stared down at it, feeling the same dissatisfaction and disappointment that she'd been feeling about Harry. One some level, she knew it was unfair of her. But Harry especially should know that she wasn't the same as she was six months ago. She wasn't going to break.

"Do you think I should write back to my dad?" Ginny asked later that night, leaning up against his legs. She was pretending to read her Charms notes in preparation for an exam, but really, she wanted to know what Harry thought.

He was silent for so long that Ginny wasn't sure he'd even heard her question. But then she felt the brush of his fingers in her hair; she leaned into his touch. "I think you should do what you feel comfortable with," he said. Something in his voice told her that he didn't quite agree with his own words.

The trouble was, Ginny didn't either. Easter was swiftly approaching, and then the secret would be out, and her family would know. And while this didn't strictly have a lot to do with her dad, she couldn't afford to wrap herself in a sort of emotional invisibility cloak.

_I don't have to talk to him just because I'm with Harry,_ she told herself. But… she wanted the vision in the Mirror of Erised. When she brought Harry home with her, she wanted to step from Hogwarts to the Burrow as it had been, but only better. And to do that, she had to reach the point where her first reaction to her dad was revulsion.

Harry didn't seem to understand this.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

08 March 2002

Harry couldn't help but feel that things were way out of his control.

Not only had Ginny been… different this last week, but now she was avoiding him. He was perfectly capable of surviving without her touching him intimately, but he didn't know what it meant, and he knew that she _hated_ feeling interrogated and pressed for answers. So he bit his tongue, returned to his shower routine, and asked her if she wanted to go flying a lot.

That question annoyed her too.

Harry gazed at his Firebolt, feeling a bit wistful. Even if she didn't want to go flying and lose herself in the air, he did._I could go alone,_ he thought. But that seemed even more lonely than wanking. He just wished that he could ask advice from someone. The other professors were out; he wasn't supposed to be dating a student. Maybe Ron and Hermione? But that would be awkward on too many different levels. Ginny was Ron's sister, and—

_Remus Lupin._

Fifteen minutes later, he was standing in their sitting room, sipping from a bottle of butterbeer. Dora kept stealing sidelong glances at him, but thankfully, she'd said nothing about Christmas, or the fact he hadn't contacted them since then, or even asked why he wanted to speak to Remus so badly.

Harry thought this was remarkably tactful of her. _It must be the baby,_ he thought, glancing at her stomach. It really was quite huge. And looked uncomfortable. "When is – er – the arrival?" he asked, making a vague gesture toward her belly.

"Do you mean when am I going to push a baby out of my—"

"Don't finish that sentence, Dora," Remus said warningly, to Harry's immense relief. He'd finished tucking Teddy into bed at just the right moment. Harry was so glad that he didn't have to hear Dora use the word 'vagina' that when Remus offered his hand, Harry hugged him instead.

"How are the two of you?" he asked. "How's Teddy? Have you named the new baby yet?"

"Are you feeling all right, Harry?" Dora asked. "Where is the sour look? Or the need to flee as soon as you get here? And you actually asked about us! Will wonders never—"

"Dora—"

"I have a girlfriend," Harry blurted out. Inwardly, he grimaced at Dora's words, though he knew he deserved them. They had no idea why Voldemort's downfall had placed a huge burden of guilt on his shoulders, and that was fine. Harry didn't really want them to understand, because that would mean they knew everything…

Dora's eyes widened and began to sparkle in preparation for merciless teasing. Which was what Harry intended, as a little compensation gift for him inflicting his dark moods on them. So he resigned himself to take it; he had to, anyway. He'd come to them for advice.

"I told you all he needed was to shag!" Dora crowed. "Look at him, Remus, he's obviously happier—"

"I haven't shagged her," Harry said plainly.

"That's a problem," Dora said cheerfully.

Harry bit his tongue, the realization that he was not going to get what he had come for creeping over him. He couldn't just say that there were a whole lot of issues behind the shagging; that would lead them straight to the right conclusion. Maybe if she hadn't been acting so strangely, he would have told them who she was, but…

"If you aren't shagging her, why'd you buy the sex book?" she asked, giving him a knowing look. Remus groaned.

Harry gaped at her. _Is nothing private?_ he thought, indignant. To his annoyance, he could feel a flush creeping up his face, beginning at his neck and ending with his cheeks tingling viciously. "What – what sex book?"

"The one Hermione saw you buy," she said.

_Damn._

The hope that Hermione hadn't told anyone died a quick death. Dora had no idea what the larger implications were, but eventually (over Easter, which was approaching far too rapidly for Harry's comfort) people would know about their relationship. _It isn't anything to be ashamed of,_ he reminded himself. But it wasn't for his sake that he wished Hermione hadn't told anyone. "Listen," he said. "If you ever see us together – could you not mention the book?"

"You want her to think it just came naturally, do you? Well, I suppose we can—"

"Enough, Dora," Remus said softly. Harry was shocked when Dora grimaced, but subsided.

"She's been really moody lately," said Harry. That was an understatement. He couldn't seem to do anything right. "And then today she told me we couldn't hang out, but didn't even give a reason. We hang out a lot," he rushed to say. "And maybe she has other stuff to do, but all she said was—"

"How long has she been moody?" Dora asked.

"I dunno," Harry thought back. "A week, maybe? And it's like I can't do anything right—"

"That sounds familiar," Remus murmured.

Harry felt a frisson of alarm, though he wasn't exactly sure why. "What? Why?" he asked sharply.

Remus grimaced. "You wouldn't believe the horror stories—"

"I want you to think back, Harry," Dora interrupted her husband. "Has this happened before? Perhaps with… monthly regularity?"

Harry thought quickly. Ginny did disappear each months, usually around the same time; almost the same day, actually, now that he thought about it. He did the math, staring at Remus all the while. Almost unbidden, an image of Fenrir Greyback rose up in his mind, just as rage began to simmer in his belly. _A werewolf? Surely I would have known…_ "You think she's a werewolf?"

Dora's laugh rang in the room. She had one hand on her huge belly and the other covered her mouth, and Harry had never come so close to cursing her. His hand was actually on the Elder Wand. "_It isn't funny!_" he shouted, knowing that he sounded crazy, but not caring. "Your husband was bitten by a werewolf," he reminded her.

"I'm aware of that—"

"And I killed the werewolf who bit him," he added. Memories of what Fenrir Greyback had done to Ginny swirled in his head, feeding his anger. "It isn't funny at all. It isn't a joke, and—"

"Your girlfriend is probably on her period," Dora interjected.

Harry's anger slammed into a brick wall and disappeared, only to be replaced by discomfort. "Er—"

"I didn't laugh because I honestly thought she was a werewolf," she said gently. "Look at Remus. He'd be hairy and beastly right now if it was a full moon, so I think your girlfriend is safe from that particular affliction."

Silence fell. Harry cursed himself for being the worst kind of moron. He'd just yelled at a pregnant woman. No matter how angry he'd been, that had to be against the rules. Her explanation did make sense… if Harry wasn't such an idiot, he might've guessed at it.

He glanced at Dora. She was exchanging some sort of silent communication with Remus. "I'm sorry," he said, ruffling his hair, and then scratching the back of his neck. "Sometimes I just have trouble," he admitted. _I really shouldn't have come here,_ he thought glumly.

"You can have a pass this time," Dora said, stroking her belly. "You did kill the werewolf who made my husband's life far more difficult than it should have been."

HPHPHPHPHPHP

09 March 2002

The morning they were to meet Ron and Hermione in the upper room at the Hog's Head, Ginny woke up with her belly in knots. And it had nothing to do with her period. It was as though her mind had been working overtime through the night (even though she didn't remember her dreams), and had landed on a conclusion that Ginny didn't want to believe.

But what if he was with her because he felt sorry for her? What if he went along with her because he didn't want to damage her further, and because he (misguidedly) blamed himself? What if he was trying to make it up to her by pretending that he actually cared for her?

She rebelled against the idea. Harry was too emotionally honest for that—

_But you weren't the only one damaged by Malfoy Manor,_ an awful little voice pointed out. _What if he feels so guilty that he'll do whatever he can to help you, even pretend?_

Harry wouldn't. He had to know how cruel that would be, and Harry wasn't a cruel man. But…

What if he felt like he just couldn't say no to her? She'd kissed him first, she'd opened up to him first, she'd climbed into his bed, and she'd touched him. She'd known for years that he had an over-blown sense of guilt and self-blame; the thought made her physically ill, but what if these last few months with him stemmed from guilt and not love or whatever he felt for her?

What if—

_Stop!_ she told herself desperately, rocketing out of bed and into the day, trying to shut her brain off. There was no reason to come to the worst possible conclusion about his behavior—

_He never came after you,_ that small voice pointed out. She froze in the act of pulling on her jumper. It was true. When she'd told him yesterday that she couldn't hang out, he hadn't said a word. And when she'd had that awful dream and avoided him, he hadn't tried to stop her. What if a part of him had been relieved, and after their mutual history, he just couldn't tell her that—

"Arnold, where are you?" she said, mostly to derail her own train of thought. Her pygmy puff poked his head out from where he'd nestled in between two pillows. He blinked his huge eyes up at her, obviously still groggy. "You need to stop staying up so late mooning over Calliope," she said sharply.

Arnold made a mutinous squeak.

Ginny did her best to ignore her own thoughts, even going so far as to dunk her head under the shower. _I'm just freaked out because we're actually going on a – on a double date with Ron and Hermione,_ she repeated to herself. _That's all. Nothing more. Harry had feelings for me._

But doubt dogged her steps and distracted her so much that she walked right through a game of wizard's chess. "Oh, sorry!" she said, as a miniature, carved knight began attacking her shoe with his sword. The black queen swore viciously at her, and the pawns on both sides began to riot.

Three young Gryffindors blinked up at her with identical expressions of annoyance. But the status of being an especially old seventh year protected her from their disdain. Somewhat.

"Next time, please watch where you're going," Stuart Method said between gritted teeth. "_Please._"

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I just – wasn't watching where I was going." Ginny wanted to ask them if it was really necessary that they play their game in the middle of the floor on a Saturday morning, but stopped herself.

The two girls whispered furiously behind her hands, and then stared at her intently in the eye, as though looking for something. Ginny flushed, but refused to look away. "Well, I'll just—"

"Are you going to Hogsmeade?" Method asked.

Ginny didn't like the tone in his voice much. "Yeah," she said begrudgingly, inching toward the door. She had no idea why all three of them suddenly looked so grim, but it annoyed the hell out of her.

"Are you going with Professor Potter?" Method persisted aggressively.

"What's it to you?" she snapped before she could stop herself.

"Just – be careful," Aisling Powell said earnestly.

Ginny stared at her in disbelief. _Is a twelve year old actually telling me to be careful with Harry?!_ Who the hell did she think she was? In order to keep herself from hexing the irritating trio, Ginny pressed her lips together, turned around, and headed out the portrait hole.


	23. You're Going to Lose That Girl

09 March 2002

Hermione was so happy and still so surprised to think of Harry and Ginny together, let alone see it, that it wasn't until the day was almost over that she noticed that there was tension between the two of them. And not the good kind. It certainly wasn't obvious, but, thinking back later, Hermione saw little signs.

They were affectionate, but neither of them looked totally comfortable with it. Ginny smiled, but subsided into a moody silence every once in a while. While this seemed like normal Ginny behavior at first, it _wasn't_ normal for her to pick at her food. And Harry kept glancing over at her as if he wasn't quite sure how she would react to the things he said.

And perhaps Hermione would have just chalked this up to normal, beginning of relationship discomfort, but the end of day was so strange that it made everything else seem strange.

Both Ron and Ginny were not in the room when Harry leaned forward urgently. He'd obviously waited until they were gone.

"Listen – you've got to make sure that the book you saw me buy—"

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth in horror. It seemed like so long ago that she'd seen Harry at Flourish and Blotts that she hadn't even remembered… and neither had Ron. And, thanks mostly to the twins, nearly all the Weasleys knew that Harry had purchased it. "_Damn._ Harry, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"That's fine, but I don't want Ginny to hear about the book. I think she—"

"Think I what?"

Ginny stood in the open doorway to the private room, an unreadable expression on her face. Hermione would have laughed at the way Harry paled and then flushed bright red… except it wasn't funny. And Hermione couldn't help but notice that when Ginny sat beside Harry again, she did not reach out and hold his hand, even though they'd held hands the entire day.

"What about the book?" Ginny said bluntly.

"Er—"

"You never answered me, you know," Ginny said almost accusingly, looking straight at Hermione. "Who wrote the book? I want to know. I want it to be stopped."

_What is she talking about?_ Hermione looked at Harry; he appeared to be just as confused as she felt.

"You're the one who told me about it," Ginny said aggressively. "And _Harry_ already agreed that I could help him stop it from getting published. You never answered me. Who has written the book about – about M-Malfoy Manor?"

"Oh!" Harry said.

"What are we talking about?" Ron asked, walking into the room following a levitated tray piled high with sandwiches. Hermione briefly wondered if the food was meant just for him, or if he was going to share. "I got corned beef, just for you, Gin," Ron said, smirking.

"Oh, thanks, Ron," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. Her lips twitched, but she looked too tense to really find the comment funny. "And we're talking about the book that someone is writing about Malfoy Manor—"

"That Sennet bitch," Ron interrupted viciously, face immediately darkening.

Hermione saw that Ginny jerked a little, and clasped her hands tightly together. She pretended like she hadn't seen it.

"Sennet," Harry said thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes. "I wonder if she's any relation to—"

"The Lestranges?" Ron interrupted. "Because she is. She's Rodolphus and Rabastan's little sister, I found that out while I had routine work at Azkaban; she'd been visiting Bellatrix and Rabastan."

Something cold and dark flickered over Harry's face as he and Ginny exchanged a glance that Hermione simply couldn't read. It really brought home the fact that Harry had killed people at Malfoy Manor. Not that Hermione thought there was anything in particular that was wrong with that. The situation had obviously been dangerous, and, frankly, Hermione had agreed with Remus that in those days, stunning enemies wasn't the best idea. But up until that point, Harry had staunchly held on to his unwillingness to kill.

But then he had, and Hermione had to admit that she wondered what lengths Harry would go to stop that book from being published. And also, whether he would do it for himself or for Ginny.

_Or both._

Ron must've caught the look on Harry's face as well, for he pulled Harry away, muttering something about having a conversation between two blokes. Hermione thought he might be telling Harry about the deaths of Bellatrix and Rabastan, and how the Weasleys had orchestrated it, but she couldn't be sure.

"Well, that was nice," Ginny muttered.

Hermione felt almost at a loss as to how to relate to Ginny now. She was… different. Before Malfoy Manor, she had been bright and talkative and warm. Ginny had had that same gift that all the other Weasleys had in that she'd made Hermione feel like part of the family, complete with the teasing. But after Malfoy Manor, she'd been a completely different girl (though she'd still treated Hermione like she did the rest of her family: distantly).

But in the last few months, she'd changed again. Her eyes had life in them again; she didn't seem to be an ocean away, lost in her own private misery. She didn't hunch in on herself, but held Harry's hand with ease.

Still. Maybe it was because her face showed more emotion than it had in years, but Hermione got the feeling that Ginny was annoyed with Harry for some reason, and he was frustrated by it, but trying not to be. Hermione glanced over at where Ron and Harry spoke in quiet voices, and felt another surge of incredulity at the fact of Harry and Ginny together.

"I'm amazed that he lets himself be with you," Hermione said thoughtfully. Whatever his issues were, Harry had been deeply affected by the events at Malfoy Manor; it was frankly a surprise that he would allow himself to be around her, let alone fall in love with her.

"Why?" Ginny asked sharply.

"Oh," Hermione said. "You know how Harry is – he doesn't feel like he deserves you. He thought Ron was going to—"

"He thinks he doesn't deserve me?"

"Er," said Hermione, at a loss for words. _Was this a surprise to Ginny?_

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The moment Hermione told her that Harry honestly, truly believed that he didn't deserve her, Ginny rage flashed through her so intensely that it frightened her. _How dare he?!_

"Excuse me," she said to Hermione. "I have to go to the loo."

She got up and walked down the stairs again, and opened the small door, locking herself in. _Everything_ made sense. Harry's unwillingness to push her stemmed from his own stupid guilt complex. And he had absolutely no reason to ever think that he didn't deserve her. It offended her on a deep level that she didn't really understand. She was furious and she didn't know what caused it.

Until she remembered. The memory came upon her without warning, sucking her down, and it was so real that she could almost smell the charred remains of the bodies Harry had left behind. The scars around her wrists felt like they bled and oozed anew.

_They stood facing each other. One of them looked smug, the other completely blank and glassy-eyed. Ginny was so far beyond terror, that she felt numb and didn't care, except that the look on Harry's face told her that it was finally happening. Voldemort was using his weapon, and she felt sick, but it was working._

However he was assaulting Harry, Ginny could see his shoulders slump. But then his face crumpled, and he bowed his head, and she felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her gut. "No," she croaked. Harry couldn't hear her, though, she knew. Or even if he could, he still hunched over, as though he wanted to disappear.

Voldemort's smile widened.

She repeated the word no_ over and over again, but neither one of them heard her, she didn't think. Maybe she wasn't even saying it out loud. "No, no, no," she chanted. Through the numbness, she hated the defeated look on his face, and the horror. After Lucius Malfoy had begun his masquerade, she didn't think she could feel things like that anymore…_

"This is your fault," Voldemort said with relish. He was not speaking to Ginny, but he'd never bothered to, not much. Ginny was just the weapon to be used against Harry.

"Yes," Harry said, almost absently. "Yes, I know."

Don't let him win!_ Ginny wanted to shout, but somehow she'd lost the ability to speak. She curled tighter around herself, hugging her knees. Her stomach hurt from Nagini, and she focused on that. She coughed, and her hand came away covered in blood._

"Ginny…"

She looked up at Harry. He stared down at her hand as though he had never seen a hand before. She knew immediately that she had missed something important, because determination was back on his face. Don't let him win. Please.__

"I have to do this," he whispered. "It's the only way I can protect you. Swear to me you'll run. Get out."

She shook her head from side to side. His words were bleak, almost devoid of emotion. Her stomach curdled, and she had to look down, certain that Nagini had coiled around her again. But the snake was gliding along the far wall, watching the proceedings with an all-too human look in her eyes.

"Tell Ron I—"

"Don't let him win, please," she whispered.

"He already beat me. I don't have a choice_," he said, voice firm. A muscle in his jaw jumped uncontrollably. Briefly, he closed his eyes. "Kill the snake, if you can, and then he'll just be a man," he said cryptically. His entire face had a spasm and he turned around. "Do it, Tom."_

"You dare_--"_

"Does that really matter?" Harry said in a loud voice, moving to stand right in front of her. "Just do it."

Ginny watched Voldemort's lips move; she was completely frozen, incapable of doing anything. A jet of green light arced out of his wand, and she heard Harry sigh as it hit, and he was thrown backward, landing heavily on top of her.

The floor of the loo was uncomfortable, but Ginny kept her head on her knees, not unaware that she was in the same position she had been when Harry had died. Died. She hadn't imagined that. It had been real. Little snippets of knowledge came to her – it probably had something to do with the prophecy Ron had told them about when had been clear that Harry wasn't coming back. Maybe even the—

But that didn't matter.

Ginny unclenched her jaw, realizing that she was grinding her teeth. _How could he possibly blame himself?_ she thought. It made no sense. He hadn't had a clue what was happening. And when he did find out, he not only meant to die to protect her, but he got her out of there. What more did he expect from himself?

A knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts.

"Ginny? Are you in there?" Hermione asked softly.

"Yes, I'm just finishing up," she said, tapping the faucet with her wand to turn on the water.

But instead of opening the door and exiting the bathroom, Ginny continued to stare down at her hands. Hermione's voice just made everything worse. Because she could _hear_ the other witch talking about Harry's saving-people complex, even though Ginny had overheard that half a decade ago.

The fact of the matter was that Harry blamed himself for far too much. He blamed himself for Sirius' death. He blamed himself for Cedric's death. He blamed himself for his parents' death. And yes, Ron had explained long ago that Harry's destiny had intertwined with Voldemort's destiny.

And Ginny understood how Harry might feel culpable in these deaths, even though it hurt to think about. But the fact that he held himself responsible for her being raped and brutalized made absolutely no sense. And even if he had felt like it was his fault, the very fact that he had _died to protect her_ made it simply ludicrous.

She'd watched him take the Killing Curse in order to protect her. She'd felt the weight of his body slam against her, and push her backward into the ground. There was no way that his irrational sense of responsibility – his _saving people thing_ -- could possibly follow him beyond that.

How could he possibly think that he didn't deserve her? _He'd died for her._

"He can't possibly feel guilty after that," Ginny whispered, staring at her reflection.

_He can't possibly feel guilty. Maybe he feels some lingering sense of responsibility… but only because you were so screwed up when he saw you again…_

It was like she was hearing about the battle at the Department of Mysteries all over again. Harry had ridden in to Sirius' rescue even though Sirius had been completely safe, ensconced at Grimmauld Place. Hermione had said that Harry had blamed himself then, and probably still did. Harry wanted to save everyone because he felt personally responsible for what happened to those he cared about.

And what if she'd been right? What if Harry was only paying attention to her, and caring for her, because on some level he wanted to show that he really had saved her from Malfoy Manor? What if he just wanted to prove to himself that even though she'd been raped, she could still—

Ginny had the horrible image of Harry, thinking that he had to put her back together, piece by piece. And what was worse was that she _had_ been feeling better, coming to terms with what had happened to her. What if his part in helping her heal had been done not out of love and caring, but because he felt like he'd been the one to shatter her in the first place?

She flung open the door. "I'm not feeling well," she said dimly. "I'm going back to Hogwarts."

If Hermione tried to stop her, she didn't know. But the numbness these thoughts had evoked soon gave way to incredulity. There really was no explanation. Harry couldn't possibly feel guilty; he had to know that he'd gone above what anyone would have expected of him. He'd taken the Killing Curse for her, in order to protect her. Surely that was absolution enough?

Hogsmeade retreated in the distance.

"Ginny, _wait!_"

Hermione had obviously wasted no time in telling Harry that she was leaving.

Harry sounded angry, but Ginny herself was much too angry to care overly much. Too many thoughts were swirling around in her head, and all of them led to the same, horrible conclusion. Everything Harry did and didn't do was out of a misguided sense of pity. Bile rose in her throat, and it made her keep walking up the path.

"What the _hell_ have I done?"

His words stopped her in her tracks, and she was instantly aware of how close they were to the place where her life had changed. This infuriated her even more, until it felt like she was on the crest of a wave. And she didn't even _care_ if it was about to drown her.

_You're out of control,_ a small voice warned her. She ignored it.

Ginny whirled around, planting her feet firmly in the path. A very small part of her was grateful that they were totally alone, but she almost didn't care if any of the other students find out. _How dare he… how dare he…_

He stopped. His cheeks were bright red, flushed, but wariness settled in his eyes. "Just tell me what I did, Gin. Whatever it is, I'm sorry. I—"

"You can't fix everything!" she shrieked at him. "You don't – you can't even—" But words failed her as they always did, and she didn't even know what she wanted to say to him.

"You don't think I don't know that?" he asked her fiercely. "The last three years, I've—"

"STOP IT!" she shouted at him.

He retreated into silence. Perversely, this made her even angrier. So did the placating gesture he made with his hands. She watched him lift his palms as though in slow motion, and it reminded her so much of how he'd stood before Voldemort right before he'd _died for her_ that she saw red.

"Don't you _dare_ pity me!" she yelled. "Do you have any idea where we are? Right now? Where we're standing?"

She watched awareness spasm across his face. His gaze fled from her face and to the road. And then beyond the road into the woods. And she knew that she didn't have to spell it out for him. Here was the place that Lucius Malfoy had lured her away; where he had fooled her, for the first time, into thinking that he was her father.

"Ginny, don't—"

"It was right here," she said. "I was here, and Malfoy was here. But you weren't—"

"If you think that I haven't thought about that – I have—"

But she didn't let him finish. "How could you have stopped it? You _couldn't_ have! And you have no _reason_ to blame yourself—"

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked her. His chest rose and fell rapidly, as though he had just run quite a distance.

_Is he just pretending not to understand me?_ Ginny thought, livid.

"If this is because you're on your period—"

Maybe it was the fact that she actually was on her period that she was inflamed even more. _How dare he?!_ And her wand was out and she said the words before she even thought about it. Great, flapping things erupted out of his nose. A small part of her told her that it was absolutely the wrong thing to do, but she was beyond caring that this was _Harry_ that she'd just cursed.

"After everything we went through -- _you_ went through – I can't believe – I _can't believe_ that you told Hermione that you don't deserve me!" she shouted.

"I don't deserve you."

She could barely make out his voice. It didn't help that he was fending off the bats. And she was wasn't sure that the pain in his voice came from the bats -- _it has to be because of the bats_ -- so she lingered, instead of turning away.

"I keep thinking you're going to come to your senses—"

Ginny couldn't listen. So she stomped away.

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09 March 2002

By the time the last bat dripped out of Harry's nose, Ginny had disappeared. Which was just as well; Harry was _furious._ It wasn't so much that he wanted to hex her – even though he sort of did – but that he wanted to hex something. His knuckles were white around the Elder Wand, and seeing the copse of woods off the path where it had all started just enraged him further.

He watched her continue on toward Hogwarts until she was tiny in the distance. His stomach rolled and pitched, and he had no _fucking clue_ what the hell was going on in her head. Harry kept trying to piece it together, but just… couldn't. He stood in the middle of the path, lucky that he was alone, because he was sure he looked like a complete moron.

A part of him regretted ending the day with Ron and Hermione. He'd meant to talk to Ginny and force her to tell him what the hell he was supposed to have done, but she'd just – just -- _she makes no sense!_ His feet were standing on the same ground where, four years ago, she'd been taken because of him, and he couldn't believe that she—

"Oy!"

Harry turned. Hagrid was heading up the path from Hogsmeade, waving jovially with his entire body. Half-heartedly, he waved back. But he had no desire to see anyone right now, not even Ginny. Especially not Ginny, unless she came to him to tell him…

His brow furrowed. "What do I want her to say?" he muttered under his breath.

Perhaps he wanted her not to say anything. They could go on pretending that certain things had never happened, that certain things weren't truth. Anger rose up inside him again and he walked – almost ran – back to Hogwarts. It came as a surprise when he got to his rooms.

Calliope immediately ran out to greet him, and Harry felt a surge of triumph. Ginny would have to come back for Arnold, and then maybe she'd have calmed down, and she'd just know – without him having to mention it or think about it – exactly why he knew he didn't deserve her. And they'd never, ever have to talk about it.

But that daydream died when he realized Arnold was no longer in his rooms. Ginny must have retrieved him already. Harry didn't know if it made it better or worse that she'd left him Calliope. He stroked the pygmy puff, feeling angry and confused, and not knowing what had even happened.

He knew he didn't deserve her. And, really, he just wanted to go back to a few weeks ago, before she'd started being distant to him. _Why did she bring it up?_ The guilt he generally did a pretty good job of ignoring was in full view, and he felt the full weight of it, just like he had after Malfoy Manor.

_What did she want from him?_


	24. I'm a Loser

30 March 2002

Harry paced outside Ron and Hermione's home, knowing he was doing the right thing, but having a hard time with it. _I don't even know what I want from them._ Well… he did, but he didn't. Could they give him absolution? He didn't think it was possible, but—

His gut churned. What if he told them and they just confirmed what he'd suspected all along? It was so bizarre to be able to see so clearly where he was weak. There were cracks all around him, and he knew that if anyone confirmed his guilt, he would fly apart. It made him feel like a coward to know that his exile from the Weasleys had been as much for his protection as for Ginny's.

"Damn it!" he swore, and kicked the fence. He lifted both hands to his head (glad that it was night, and Ron and Hermione lived in a private area) and took a deep breath, not knowing if he was trying to straighten his hair or pull it out. And before he could talk himself out of it (the image of Dennis Creevey making Ginny laugh burned his eyeballs -- he hadn't spoken to her in three weeks, enough was enough), he marched up to the front door and kicked at it.

Then he felt bad, and knocked like a human being. "Ron!" he shouted.

His fist was raised again when the door swung open. Instead of Ron or Hermione, it was George's surprised face that looked out at him. _Figures._ "Hi, George," he said as casually as he could. "Is Ron home?"

George's mouth closed with a snap. The door slammed shut. Harry stared at it for several seconds, and he had not idea how to react—

"Sorry," George said, opening the door again. "But – what the hell?" Had the moment not been so intense, Harry might have found humor in George looking so shocked. "Where – where did you get the Polyjuice, Fred?" George asked with the faint air of grasping at straws. "Harry hasn't been seen in years."

The censure came through loud and clear, but Harry just couldn't deal with this on top of everything else. He pushed by George, hoping that a solution to his sudden problem would miraculously appear once he stepped inside the house. It didn't. The situation was just as awkward in the coatroom as it was on the porch.

_Find Ron._

He glanced nervously at George, who hadn't appeared to have recovered yet, and then walked all the way into the house, following the voices. With a sinking feeling, Harry realized that he had no idea what he had just gotten himself into. George was one thing. What if he'd just walked in on all the Weasleys?

"Ron, go see what's keeping George," Hermione said.

George brushed by Harry, still staring at him. "Harry's here," he announced as he rounded the corner. "You know – Harry Potter. The exile."

Harry sucked in a breath and followed him in. Ron, Hermione, and Angelina all stared up at him. It was a cozy scene of two couples, and it really drove home the fact that he hadn't spent any time at all with Ginny in what felt like years. "I need help," he blurted out. "And… not from Ginny's brother, but. You know. My friend. Please." A dim part of him kept up a running commentary on how stupid he was being: George was here… Harry sounded absolutely pathetic. But Ginny's voice was loud in his ears, and it just didn't matter.

"Why aren't you two as surprised as I am that he's here?" George asked.

Harry ignored him. It was difficult to place his thoughts in any sort of order. They were scattered around his head, as though he'd thrown them there after Malfoy Manor and never bothered to tidy up. The prophecy. The Killing Curse. How he felt about it. It was nearly incomprehensible, even to him.

"Harry and Ginny are _what?!_" George asked loudly, piercing Harry's thoughts.

"Just be quiet, George," Ron said.

Something warm was thrust into Harry's hand, and he looked down into a glass of steaming, amber liquid. Gratefully, he drank the entire thing. "I'm not so sure. About me and Ginny," he said. "She's furious with me, because I—"

"How the fuck did that even happen?"

"George, _shut up!_" Ron and Hermione said together.

Harry grimaced, almost wishing that they would let George talk. The more he tried to pinpoint his thoughts, the more they slipped through his fingers. Like trying to catch water or wind. "I need to know if I deserve her or not—"

"Of course you deserve her," Hermione interrupted immediately.

"You can't just say that," Harry told her. "You can't. It's just…"

George took his brief pause to raise more concerns. "How long has this been going on? Why didn't you tell us? And—"

"_Petrificus Totalus,_" Ron said. George froze and toppled over. Angelina, who had remained completely silent thus far, squawked. "Don't tell me he didn't deserve that. Harry, you have one minute to explain, and then I'll have to beat some sense into you. I don't want to," he added hastily. "But if you—"

"It has to do with the prophecy," Harry said, the vast well of bitterness rising up in him whenever he thought about it almost choking him. He heard Hermione take a deep breath, and his glass was refilled. The alcohol loosened his tongue. "After the visions—"

"Visions?" Angelina asked softly.

"Voldemort made him watch Ginny being brutalized," Hermione replied. "In his head. Remember how I told you—"

"Did you tell them about the Horcruxes?" Harry asked abruptly.

"Yeah, mate, we sort of had to," Ron said. "We figured it didn't need to be a secret anymore."

"If it was… we're sorry," Hermione said.

"Don't be," Harry shook his head. "It just makes things easier." And it did; it meant that he didn't have to explain things even more. "You have to understand that Voldemort intended to break me—"

"But he didn't," Hermione said earnestly.

Harry shook his head and looked at her. "He did. I was useless, pretty much. And then he said that he'd let her go if I let him kill me."

"Like he would have," Ron said darkly. "I'm glad you didn't—"

"I did," Harry said. "I meant to give her the protection that my mother gave me, so when he cast the spell, I didn't fight. I didn't want to. You have to understand that," he said, almost pleading. "I really meant to die, I swear I did." He wanted to make sure that Ron – and George, who was still immobile on the ground – knew this.

Ron gaped at him. Even Hermione was silent, uncomprehending.

"I was a Horcrux," said Harry.

"But how is that even possible?" Hermione asked. She sounded angry. "How could he even do that? It wasn't—"

"I don't know how, but his soul was already really unstable when he tried to kill me," Harry said. "So it just sort of attached to me. And that's what the prophecy was really all about – I had to die—"

"How are you alive?" Ron asked.

"Because of what happened to her," Harry said, tasting bile in the back of his mouth. He swallowed more firewhisky to hide the taste.

"But—"

"I had to take the curse willingly, all right?" Harry said. His voice was louder than it normally was. "In order to live, I had to not fight back at all." And suddenly it was like a dam burst, and words flooded into his mouth. "And you know what I thought? I thought, this is just fucking great. How many people died – my parents, Sirius, Cedric, Mad-Eye, Dumbledore – so I could get there? And then I couldn't even do that right."

"What the—"

To his fury, he felt his eyes fill. "I meant to die because of her, because I wanted to protect her, and then it turned out that she fucking saved my life, all right?" Rage rose up in him, and he threw his glass against the hearth with as much force as he could muster. "Sorry," he muttered, knowing he was completely out of control, but not knowing how to change that. His hands were shaking almost uncontrollably.

The room was dead silent, and Harry couldn't even look at them.

"Being in love with her makes it even worse," Harry said almost conversationally. "It makes it better, though, too. I don't know." He tilted his head up and looked at the ceiling. "Death is one thing. But Dumbledore always said that there were things worse than death, and what Ginny suffered… I just am – so many people paid this huge price, and Ginny most of all, but here I am."

Harry chanced a glance at Ron and Hermione. Both of them had identical looks of horror on their faces, and even though it was what he had expected, it felt like a dagger in his stomach. And it wasn't just normal horror; he saw what he was feeling reflected back on their faces. It was stark, and went bone deep.

"So, he used her as a weapon, and it worked perfectly," he said. "Like a charm. I was really fucking willing to die at that point. But then, because the normal rules like life and death don't fucking work the way they should for Harry Potter, I got to live. _And now she's furious with me for thinking I don't deserve her!_"

There was a whisper of movement. Harry knew immediately what it was, and he didn't even turn around. _Let them curse me,_ he thought. Now that he'd actually said the things out loud, they sounded even worse than they did in his head. And maybe Ginny just didn't see things rationally; maybe he'd been taking advantage of her. Because how could she not possibly think that it wasn't amazing that she could even look at him? And—

"_Petrificus Totalus_," Ron said again.

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30 March 2002

Ginny stared at the right corner of Dumbledore's portrait, not having any idea how to even begin. Her cheeks burned, and she really wished that she had someone else to talk to. But she couldn't talk to her parents, she didn't really have any friends, and she felt uncomfortable talking to Ron and Hermione about Harry.

Dumbledore was safe. He knew Harry, and he probably knew the situation better than even Harry. Certainly more than Ginny did. And she didn't have to reveal that she was in love with Harry. The other professors didn't have to find out. Everyone in the castle knew that they were close; it was logical to ask these things.

"Did you know that Harry took the Killing Curse?" she blurted out. "Not when he was a baby. When he defeated Voldemort. Right before."

The figure in the portrait made a steeple of his hands. "I knew that he must have," he said quietly. "I knew that he was a Horcrux—"

"You _knew_?" Ginny said loudly. Though she had expected that Dumbledore knew more than he said, the flash of anger took her by surprise. "And you didn't _do_ anything? Or even tell him? Or—"

"I was trying to save his life," the portrait said. "I admit, I didn't tell him in the beginning because I thought no child, no adolescent should have to walk around with a death penalty. And then when Voldemort took his blood the night he returned, I didn't tell him because had he known that he would survive the Killing Curse, the sacrifice wouldn't work correctly. It is intention that matters with magic."

Ginny nodded, though it hurt to remember the moments before Harry had taken the curse. Ever since that memory had come back to her, she kept replaying the image over and over again. And it ripped through her every time. "He did it because of me, you know," she admitted. "He meant to die for me and he still doesn't think that he deserves our – our friendship. I don't understand."

The portrait eyed her serenely, though Ginny could tell that he was measuring her. The painted blue of his eyes could see right through her, it seemed, weighing her. She lifted her chin.

"Harry's greatest flaw has always been that he blames himself for things outside of his control," said Dumbledore. "It is, I think, understandable. Ever since he was little more than an infant, he was at the center of a prophecy, and the person Voldemort wanted to kill most. This, of course, led those around him to try to protect him, therefore placing themselves at risk."

Ginny remained silent, not wanting the portrait to stop talking if she asked the wrong question, or said the wrong thing. Several of the other portraits shuffled their feet and cleared their throats. "Preposterous," one of them murmured. Ginny glanced at him; something in his face reminded her of Sirius Black. "One person can't be held accountable for the actions of a madman."

"Thank you, Phineas," Dumbledore murmured.

"But even if he really thought that Voldemort capturing me was his fault, then why doesn't he realize that by dying for me he made up for it? Not that I think he was to blame at all," she hurried to add. "I never did, I swear. But he died for me, and it's a miracle he's alive at all—"

"He thinks you're the miracle. Or, rather, what happened to you," Dumbledore said softly. "He's certain that he owes his survival to what happened to you. Because it wouldn't have worked if he hadn't taken the curse willingly, without fighting. And because he took the curse willingly and without fighting to protect you, and because he did that due to what you experienced, he blames his survival on your treatment at the hands of the Death Eaters."

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30 March 2002

Harry's limbs immediately froze, and he toppled over. He watched the stones of the hearth rising up to meet him, and felt a numbness that had nothing to do with the spell. But just before he hit, he was lifted into the air as though he was as weightless as a feather, and settled onto the rug.

Another spell was whispered, and Harry could tell that George had been released from his own body bind.

"If you say one thing to make him feel worse, brother or not, I _will_ hurt you," Ron said. _What the--?_

"I won't," said George. "But… just to get this straight… Harry took the Killing Curse for her?"

"Of course he did," Hermione murmured.

This was followed by a long period of silence that was maybe even as long as ten minutes. Harry couldn't tell; from his position he couldn't see a clock to measure the time. He began to feel a bit annoyed with them; what was taking them so long? Why weren't they talking, or cursing him, or anything?

The worst thing about being immobilized was the fact that Harry literally had no distractions. He was frozen, and he couldn't do anything. He couldn't say anything. His thoughts battered at him, and he just wished they'd get to it. Even if they validated all of his thoughts…

"I told you she was acting cold to him," Ron said loudly. "That day in Hogsmeade -- _I told you._ What the hell is she thinking?"

No one answered him.

"You can't just leave him like that, Ron," Hermione said. "Why'd you bind him, anyway?"

"I don't know what to say to him yet," Ron said in a low voice. "And I didn't want him getting the wrong idea and running away."

"Since you don't know what to say to him, could you tell me what the hell is going on?" George asked tightly.

Hermione told him. Harry listened as she calmly and succinctly told George a short version of how they got together, lingering on parts of the story that made him uncomfortable: Harry rushing to Hogwarts on Christmas, and buying Calliope. George didn't say anything. Harry wished he would. It just wasn't right that one of the twins would be so silent.

Quite suddenly, he felt the curse on him lift. Feeling came back into his limbs, and he stretched, feeling embarrassed and resentful and yet happy that Ron hadn't kicked him out of his home yet. "I wasn't going to run," he said.

"I don't even know what to say to you," Ron said honestly. "I could tell you until I'm blue in the face that it wasn't your fault—"

"And you were just as much a victim as Ginny was," Hermione said softly. "Just in a different—"

"No, I wasn't," Harry said sharply.

"Keep lying to yourself," Ron said ruthlessly. He made it sound like a challenge. "You just stood there and told us that you regret being alive. You exiled yourself from everyone you love, and you've been living in misery for years. But you're a happy-go-lucky bloke without a care in the world, aren't you? Not hurt at _all_," he added sarcastically.

"Ron," Hermione said warningly.

"Hermione," Ron imitated her tone. Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as Ron dropped his head into his hands and pulled his hair viciously. "Let me get this straight, Harry," Ron said in a muffled voice. "We get taken to Malfoy Manor. Hermione and I escape. You stay because—"

"I heard her," Harry murmured. "She was in the kitchen—"

"You stay because you heard her," Ron continued. His voice was shaking. "And then – what? Voldemort came?"

"Not yet," Harry said uncomfortably. There had been the matter of killing the Death Eaters, and then Ginny having to make sure they were really dead. "The Death Eaters were dead when Voldemort came," he added. Ron and Hermione exchanged a shrewd glance. "They tried to get me to hurt her," he explained. One second under the Imperius Curse and Lucius Malfoy's voice in his head was all it had taken.

"All right. Then you kill the Death Eaters who are trying to force you to hurt her," Ron said. He was speaking very slowly and clearly. Harry bristled at this.

"What was I supposed to do?" he asked loudly. "How was—"

"And then Voldemort comes," Ron talked over him, almost shouting. "And he forces you to watch Ginny get raped again and again. And _then_ he tells you that he'll let her go if you let him kill you. Which you do."

Harry stared at Ron blankly. _Why is he repeating everything?_

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Ron shook his head at Harry and forced himself to relax. _I'm not going to get through to him,_ he thought. He wished he hadn't let Harry up. It was easier to think when he knew that Harry couldn't move. But now that his best mate was mobile and (Ron had to admit) a flight risk, the words just wouldn't come.

Not that they had before.

He'd never seen Harry look so desperate and hopeless at the same time. And Ron had absolutely no idea what to say to him. _What can I say?_ What Ron felt most was an almost overwhelming sense of gratitude. Every couple of seconds, the knowledge hit him -- _Harry died for my sister!_ -- and made it difficult to think. George was having the same problem, Ron could tell.

And it hurt a bit too that Harry had it all mixed up in his head. _He really has no idea what he did,_ Ron thought, awed. And he couldn't even shake some sense into him, because Harry would never see it the way Ron did.

Every few seconds, it was on the tip of his tongue to say _thank you_, but he always stopped himself just in time. Harry would not be receptive to Ron's gratitude, that was pretty plain.

"Would you stop staring at me like that?" Harry asked grumpily.

"We can't help it. You just told us—"

"_George,_" Ron said harshly, shaking his head and wishing that he hadn't let George stay. _I should've kicked him out as soon as Harry got here._ "Listen, Harry," Ron said. "Am I the person you should be talking to? Shouldn't you be talking to Ginny?"

"She left me," Harry said indignantly. "And then she was laughing with that Creevey bastard. And besides—"

"Wait," Ron held up his hand. Harry fell silent.

Ron glanced over at Hermione, who still appeared to be at a total loss for words. Her face was very pale, and Ron felt a surge of sympathy for her. This kind of thing – their best friend dying and being given a second chance at life – went beyond books or theories. He could practically see that big brain of hers trying to process it and make sense of it.

Ron looked forward to the explanation.

Especially of Ginny's part in all this. Ron couldn't help but feel more than a little angry with her. He equated it with everyone being furious with her for her issues with their father. Knowing what they did now, none of them would think of yelling at her for having nightmares or being uncomfortable in his presence. Ginny's issues were understandable, and so were Harry's.

_She could've given the bloke a break._

But whether or not Ron liked the fact that Ginny had hurt Harry, Harry was in love with her, and whatever absolution Harry thought he needed had to come from her. This sparked an idea, and he pushed himself off the sofa and over to the small desk in the corner of the room.

"Ron, what are you doing?"

He didn't answer Hermione, but opened a drawer, rummaged around, and came out with a parchment. "Look at it, Harry," he said quietly, holding it out to him.

Harry reached for it, furrowing his brow.

"When Ginny went back to school, we wanted to be sure that she was actually the person sending the letters," Ron explained. "So we had her pick a symbol that she'd put on the—"

"I know," Harry interrupted. "That's how you found us out in the first place."

"Look at what symbol she picked," Hermione said, finally stirring, and following Ron's thought process with ease. "That's your scar. That's what she chose, because you make her feel safe."

"And if she doesn't blame you, why do you blame yourself?" Ron asked.

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30 March 2002

Ginny felt as though she'd Apparated right in the middle of a brick wall. _Oh._ Horror welled up inside her, and it really didn't seem to have an end. _I don't deserve you,_ he'd said. _I keep thinking you're going to come to your senses._

She heard the words again. This time she understood the pain behind them. They echoed in her ears like bats flapping in a cave. She felt the weight of the eyes of the portraits on her, like they were poking into her skin. Understanding and grief and rage and something completely indefinable broke in waves over her.

"Is it true?" she asked, swallowing hard.

Dumbledore was silent for a very long time. "It wasn't supposed to be, as I will tell him if he ever finds himself here. But yes, it is logical that he would make these assumptions. However, I think that it is skewed in his mind—"

"There's nothing wrong with his mind," Ginny said fiercely. "He's just – he's been hurt and – and – and—"

But she couldn't finish. She didn't even know how she was feeling, let alone what she wanted to say. _I got what I came for,_ she thought, looking around the room but not really seeing it. Dumbledore's words had been like a slap in the face, and the last of the hero worship that had been with her since she was just a little girl died.

"I wasn't suggesting that he is mad," the portrait said gently, almost respectfully. "Harry is, I believe, a man in a million. But he has never viewed himself in that light. I doubt that he has ever sat down and – pardon me for saying this, but I assume that you want my full honestly?"

Ginny nodded when it became apparent that he was waiting for her answer.

"I don't believe he has ever sat down and considered the fact that his willingness to sacrifice himself is rare, and the capacity of love he can feel for people is great," he said. "In this, Harry can only see the terrible aspect of love, the most terrible and powerful and beautiful force in the universe. And he has, I believe, gotten it twisted around in his head. He believes that because the prophecy was about him, he shares equal blame in how it played out. He is only able to think that your experience saved him because he was willing to die, and his willingness saved him. But really, it was the fact that he loved your brother, your family, and you enough to make that choice that saved him."

Ginny gaped at him, incapable of speech.

"I imagine that he didn't feel for you then what he does now," Dumbledore said delicately. "Therefore, I assume that his reasons for making that choice had to do with you being his best friend's little sister, and the youngest child of a family who had taken him in and given him everything he'd never had before."

A thousand different thoughts sparked in her brain so quickly that she didn't have time to fully articulate them – even to herself. She saw half-formed memories in her mind's eye, until she was whirled around to another one, like there was a tempest inside her head. And all the while, the indefinable feeling kept growing and growing until it eclipsed the hurt and anger.

A part of her – the hurt and angry part – recoiled from the realization before she even had it, but then—

_It was worth it._

Standing where she was, with the perspective she now had, and knowing what she now did… it was worth it. If what had happened to her had given him the chance to survive being a Horcrux, even after being struck with the Killing Curse… it was worth it.

She'd been telling herself for months that she was in love with him, but it really smacked her across the face. Seventy days of torment flashed in front of her, but now with greater clarity, the awfulness of it dimmed. It was not a warm, happy feeling. It was like being genuinely comforted by a blanket made of asbestos, but Ginny couldn't help but find peace in the very same idea that had tortured Harry for so long.

_Maybe I wouldn't want to go back and have it happen again,_ Ginny thought. But the idea of Harry having to die because of the Horcrux inside him was worse than her memories. _I love him that much._ She'd never thought to look for a silver lining in that particular cloud, but there it was, blinding her.


	25. Come Together

30 March 2002

"Do you have the password?" the Fat Lady asked, an inscrutable expression on her face.

"Berserker," Harry said, stomach still coiled into knots. It was getting worse by the moment. The way that his heart was thumping faster than it normally did in anticipation of seeing her and hopefully reconciling with her made it even worse. He looked down at the Marauder's Map again just to be sure she was still here.

The portrait folded her painted arms. Harry resisted the urge to ruffle his hair. For all the Fat Lady knew, he was a professor with business with a student. Not a man prepared to grovel to win back his lover. _Play it cool, Potter._ "Would you just let me in?"

"You aren't the Head of Gryffindor," she said smugly.

"That doesn't mean that I can't have business with a student," Harry retorted. _Don't show weakness._

"What kind of business?" she asked slyly. "We portraits have a small wager, you see, and—"

Someone pushed her open from the inside, effectively cutting off her words. Harry heard her sigh, aggrieved, but then he spotted a head of bright red hair, and quite suddenly, the Fat Lady was the furthest thing from his mind. Ginny gracefully exited, straightened up, and then rocked backward in shock when she saw him.

"Er, hi," he said, eyes darting to the Fat Lady, wanting to start his apology now, this instant, but didn't want to feed portrait gossip any more than totally necessary. "I have a few things to discuss with you. About class. And… flying," he added, because he got the impression that the Fat Lady was wily when it came to things like this. "And… maybe flying during class as a sort of – training exercise. Sometimes bad people and creatures fly, you know," he continued to babble.

Ginny surprised him by smiling; the closed, angry expression he'd seen these last few weeks had completely disappeared. Frankly, this threw him a little. He had no idea what to make of it. "All right," she said, jerking her head a little. "But is the corridor really the place to discuss lesson plans?"

"No," he said, feeling immense relief. "We should go somewhere"--_more private_—"else."

As Ginny turned to shut the portrait, Harry noticed that she carried two bags: one looked slightly full, and the other was Arnold's. The pygmy puff poked his head out of it and, upon seeing Harry, started squeaking excitedly. "Hi, Arnold," Harry said, feeling ridiculously pleased to see him. "Do you want to go see Calliope?"

"Is that even a question?" Ginny asked wryly.

He smiled down at her. "I'll bet he's missed her a lot," he said. Ginny flushed a little, but didn't look away. He suddenly felt a little more confident, though still unsure where the change in her came from. As one, they turned and walked away.

"Don't mind me!" the Fat Lady shouted to their retreating backs. "_Complete_ lack of gratitude…" Harry heard her mutter as they turned the corner.

The walk to his private rooms was not precisely comfortable – there were too many things that Harry had to say – but he was so relieved that she wasn't fighting him that it wasn't terribly awkward. _I wish I'd prepared a speech,_ he thought wistfully. But Ginny ought to be used to his babbling by now; hopefully she'd make sense of it.

The corridors were so empty that it felt like they were the only two in the castle. Almost everyone had gone home the day before for Easter, and the apparent lack of other people reminded Harry of Christmas break, when he'd first been learning what it felt like to have her lips on his.

After what felt like hours, they finally reached the door. Harry undid the wards and unlocked the door, letting his hand linger on the knob before he pushed it open. The room was dark and felt slightly cold. He almost decided to light the fire in the grate by hand, without magic, as a tool for procrastination, but he didn't really want to hide behind it.

"Go find her, Arnold," Ginny murmured, and Harry heard the sounds of an overly excited pygmy puff escape the confines of his bag and go tearing into the bedroom, where Calliope was.

A heavy, waiting silence fell.

"I went to see Ron and Hermione tonight," he said, looking at her. "I was pretty desperate," he admitted.

Pain flickered over her face. "Harry, I really owe you an apology—"

"I don't think you do," he said quickly. "Sorry – but if I don't say this now, I'm not sure if I will. And I have to," he added firmly. He had to lay it all out on the line, because if she didn't understand _now_, then there was the possibility that she would, someday, and it would kill him if she left him. Well, she already sort of had, but not for the right reason. "I just feel that after our history, you're really the one woman I can be with. And I know that doesn't really make sense—"

"It does. I feel the same way about you—"

"But I also feel like you're the one woman that I don't really have any right to be with," he told her. He hesitated, his mind replaying what he'd just said to her. "Wait. Don't think that I – there are a thousand reasons why I feel the way I do," he hastened to clarify. "You're so lovely, and you love to fly, and you make me laugh. I love your sense of humor. But… you understand me in a way that I don't think anyone else really could."

The words dried up for a moment, mostly because he was going to have to tell her _why_ he felt he didn't deserve her. "I just feel selfish," he said simply. Standing in front of her, he suddenly felt completely vulnerable. "I mean – did you know that I count your laughs? You've laughed eighty-four times that I've heard, and every time, it makes me happy. But I just keep remembering that I'm partially responsible for… why you didn't laugh as easily as you used to."

Harry watched as her throat worked. "You make me want to laugh again," she said softly.

"You may feel differently," he said. "I have something I need to tell you about Malfoy Manor—"

"I already know," she interrupted him abruptly.

"Er," he said.

"While you were talking to my brother, I was – I went to talk to Dumbledore's portrait," she said.

Harry's stomach plunged to his feet. "So…. Did he…"

"You have to understand that I was furious," she said quickly. "And more than that – I was just so _confused_ that you didn't think you deserved me. You say that I can understand you, but I was – completely blind. I thought that you should feel the way I feel, that for – for whatever the reason, or the circumstances, you were there when I needed you the most."

"But I—"

She didn't let him finish. There were two spots of color high in her cheeks, but her gaze didn't waver. "You meant to die to protect me. You killed people for me. And for whatever reason we both made it out of there alive, _please_ let that be enough. Because I—" for the first time, her words seemed to falter. But her eyes beseeched him, and he couldn't ignore the fact that her words had suffused him with warmth from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.

But he had to make _sure_. "Dumbledore – he told you why I was able to survive?" he asked.

There was a hard, blazing look in her face that he didn't understand, but it comforted him nonetheless. "Yes," she said. "And it doesn't… matter," she added delicately, though Harry got the impression that this was more for his sake than her own. "All that matters to me is that you're here with me, because… well, I know that Voldemort didn't win after all."

Harry let the words sink in. He heard the truth in them as it pertained to her, but it was much harder to accept that they were true when it came to himself. "I feel like he did what he set out to do," he admitted. "That he… broke me. I mean, that's what he set out to do." And it almost felt like an insult to what happened to her to feel like he wasn't. But at the same time, she was the one who made him feel like he was whole again.

She looked stricken, and she opened her mouth—

"I love you," he blurted out. Her mouth closed with a snap. _Shit, shit, shit._ But it was too late now. _Could I be any less romantic?_ he asked himself, disgusted. But now that he'd told her, he couldn't stop himself from continuing. "And it just makes me feel – I dunno – less… broken."

His heart pounded while he waited for her response, but silence stretched out, until it was almost unbearable.

"I thought for a while that you pitied me," she said so quietly that he had to strain his ears to hear her. He held his breath while the fire cracked and popped behind him, almost obscenely loud. "You know. And that's why we were together, because you felt guilty, like you owed me something."

Harry winced. "I absolutely do not pity you," he said firmly. "I—"

But before he could finish his sentence, she'd thrown herself at him with enough force that he just barely caught himself – and her – in time. And she didn't even give him a chance to deny it before she pulled his head down and kissed him full on the lips. She pulled slightly away after a few seconds. "I thought that you didn't desire me the way I desire you," she whispered. "Because I kissed you first, and I touched you first—"

Harry couldn't help it. He pulled her even closer and tried to prove with the way he kissed her that she'd been wrong. It was almost laughable – how long had he wanted her? For long, wonderful moments, he let himself be lost in the sensation, before he knew that he needed to clarify, and to explain. "Trust me, I desire you plenty," he told her. He couldn't help the wry note in his voice. If she knew how often she'd fueled his fantasies…

Tentatively, he moved his hand from her hair to the small of her back and pressed her closer, knowing that she could feel his erection. Instead of pulling away and waiting for her to touch him, he pushed against her. And it felt so good, he did it again. His mind was already weaving elaborate fantasies, and he couldn't help but thrust against her more insistently.

"I thought – you never initiated anything," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

With great effort, Harry pulled away, running his hand down her arm and lacing her fingers with his. "It's not that I don't desire you," he said. He felt self-conscious, but he brought their hands down between their bodies, and let her feel it for herself. "It's just… being intimate, physically, with you feels like icing on the cake."

"It's okay to desire me," she said shyly. "I want you to."

Harry regretted pulling away from her, especially when she let go of his hand and turned away. But then she looked at him over her shoulder, and he felt a jolt of heat right to his groin. This effectively derailed any thought he had in his head. He watched as she grabbed her bag – not Arnold's bag – and lifted it over her shoulder.

"Are you leaving?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

"No," she said. Her face reddened. "I was – when you found me at the portrait hole, I was on my way here," she told him. "I was hoping that I could stay the night here?"

All sorts of wild thoughts entered his head. "Yes," he said fervently. And even if she didn't mean what he hoped she meant, he would like nothing more than to just sleep beside her. _Though I might have to take care of business before that happens,_ he thought vaguely.

"I'm going to change into my pajamas," she said pointedly.

"Er – me too," he said.

She flashed a smile at him and he walked into his bedroom, and searched around for a clean pair of pajama bottoms. He took off his clothes, and pulled them on, staring at the door of his bathroom.

It opened, and her head poked out first, and then the rest of her. Harry forgot how to breathe. She was wearing a blue nightgown that hugged close to her body and allowed him to see every curve. Hot blood thundered through his veins. Dimly, he registered that she held her arms tight against her abdomen, as though she was self-conscious. But he was too busy walking toward her that he couldn't think of a word to say. His mind was too busy processing the fact that the material was tight against her breasts, and he thought he could see the vague shadows of her nipples through it.

"Wow," he said.

She was smiling when he kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her and they sort of rocked toward the bed, ignoring the pygmy puffs; Arnold was chasing Calliope around the room.

He lifted her and laid her on the bed, settling himself beside her. For a moment, he shifted his hips so that he wasn't pressing his erection against her thigh, but her voice echoed in his head. _It's okay to desire me._ And he moved until he was half on top of her, and not hiding anything.

"I'm going to kiss you," he said, running his hand up her thigh, and her sides until his thumb was right under her breast.

"Yes, please," she breathed.

At almost the same moment he kissed her, he stroked her breast, running his fingers over her nipple, delighted to find it already a hard little nub. _It's okay to desire me._ After several long moments, he pulled back slightly. "I'm going to kiss your breasts," he said. He gave her plenty of time to stop him, but then he leaned down and replaced his fingers with his mouth.

She arched her back.

His hand found its way back to her thigh, bunching up the material of her nightgown, and stroking the silky skin it uncovered. He grinned when she rolled her hips. "I'm going to touch you," he told her. Again he waited enough time for her to stop him. She didn't. Instead, her legs opened a little wider. He stroked her gently through her knickers, amazed that they were damp.

He shifted his mouth to her other breast at the same time he slid his hand under her knickers and cupped her bum, kneading it.

"I'm going to take your knickers off," he said shakily.

Instead of stopping him, as he half-feared she would, she moaned and lifted her hips, aiding him. He lifted himself up and used both hands to pull them off. When he looked at her face, his heart skipped a beat. Her eyes were heavy lidded, her lips were parted, and her cheeks were flushed. Feeling slightly more confident than he had in the past, he touched her. His fingers slid into her easily, and her hips rocked up to meet him.

_I want to use my mouth,_ Harry thought suddenly. His penis twitched as he imagined being that close to her, tasting her. But… he didn't know how she would feel about that. _One way to find out._ "I'm going to – I want to kiss you," he said firmly. She looked at him quizzically. He brushed his thumb against her clitoris. "_There,_" he added.

Her eyes widened, and she clenched her thighs around his hand. "What?" she squeaked.

"Well, sometimes people like to—"

"I know what oral sex is," she said breathlessly, pushing against his hand. Harry didn't know if it was hearing those words coming out of her mouth, or the way she moaned when he rubbed her clitoris again, or the fact that she was really responding to him in a way that she never had before, but suddenly his erection was almost painful.

He tried to ignore it. "I really want to," he told her seriously. "But if you don't…"

"I – but…" she said uncertainly. Her brow furrowed and she gazed at him without really seeing him for several long moments.

"It may not even work," he said. "I may not even be able to do it right. But I'd like to try."

"All right," she said finally, relaxing her thighs a little.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "But… you'll just be so _there_ and _seeing_ everything…"

"I know," he said earnestly, gently spreading her knees and moving to kneel between them. "That's the best part." But instead of spreading her legs wide and looking his fill, he was mindful of her misgivings, and began with her knee. He pressed what felt like hundreds of kisses on her knee, gradually working his way up her thigh. He stretched out.

"Your skin is so smooth," he said. And because he wanted to know what her inner thigh tasted like, he licked it, and was rewarded with the muscle quivering under his mouth. She moved restlessly, and he moved higher, pushing her pretty nightgown up over her hips. "I _love_ your nightgown," he mumbled. _I wonder if she knows that it just makes me want to take it off her?_

"I… suspected," she said, propping herself up on her elbows. "That's why I wore it."

He poked his head up. "I said that out loud?"

She grinned at him. "You say a lot of things out loud."

Harry might have wanted to explore this further, but she planted her feet more firmly on either side of him and suddenly all he could think about was how good she smelled, and how close he was to his goal. Just an inch below the juncture of her thighs, he found a new taste.

He licked it and was rewarded with a moan.

And, suddenly, he was there, and for a moment he closed his eyes, nerves almost taking over. But then his eyes popped open of their own accord, and feasted upon the sight before him. It was lovely, just like the rest of her—

"Thank you," she said, sounding embarrassed.

Harry brought his hand up and opened her further. She was pink and swollen and _glistening_ and it brought his awareness right back to his erection, and how good it felt to wiggle against the bed.

"You're staring."

"I can't help it," he said, taking a deep breath. He didn't really know where to begin, and he needed to stall, so he leaned forward and nuzzled her, and took another deep breath.

_Just do it,_

He gave her a long, slow lick from the bottom to the top, and jerked his hips against the bed when he heard her ragged, gasping moan. _Yes. She likes that._ So he did it again. And again. "You taste _incredible_," he said, thrusting into the bed again, hoping she didn't notice. And she did taste incredible. _I can't believe some blokes don't like doing this,_ he thought incredulously.

And it wasn't so much the way she tasted, but the way she panted and lifted her bum up to give him better access. He slid one arm under her. Harry had no real idea what he was doing; he didn't know if he had a technique, or if he _should_have a technique. But Ginny's moans were coming faster and faster, and she was twisting the bedclothes in her hands.

_You're beautiful,_ he thought, tilting his head and thrusting his tongue up inside her. The sound that came out of her mouth was so close to a scream that he reached down and rubbed himself with his palm before he was even aware of what he was doing. _Focus on Ginny. I want to hear that sound again…_

Maybe a minute passed before she did it again. This time Harry looked up her body, and all thought left his brain. Her back was arched, and all he could see was that she's pulled her nightgown up, and was squeezing her breasts in her hands, stroking her nipples. _Merlin…_ "_Ginny_… that's—"

"Less talking, Harry!" she panted, thrusting up into his mouth.

She was totally out of control, and Harry blinked, feeling a mixture of strength and awe. He chuckled against her, and then flattened his tongue against her clitoris. He was totally unprepared for what happened next. In the same moment, she wrapped her legs around him and fisted her hands in his hair, bringing him hard against her.

He got the impression that she didn't want him to move, and he kept his tongue pressed tightly against her clitoris, rubbing it back and forth. Her breath came in gasps; he heard her moan his name, and she squeezed him even tighter. He couldn't really breathe, but oxygen was overrated. When he compared it to having Ginny completely undone beneath his mouth, breathing didn't matter at all.

Fortunately, she finished not even a minute later. She cried out and pulled him even closer, rolling her hips. Then, almost abruptly, her shaking thighs fell away and she relaxed. And instead of pulling his hair, she started stroking it gently.

"You finished," he said, looking up at her. It wasn't a question, but he was waiting for her nod. He didn't know whether it was the lack of oxygen for a while, or the fact that he was so hard that he thought he'd go off after one firm stroke, but he could barely see straight. And he moved to straddle her belly, almost sitting on her, and pulling down his pajama bottoms in the same motion.

His eyes slammed closed as he gripped her hand and guided it to his penis. "That was amazing," he told her, cracking his eyes open.

"I'm going to want you to do that a lot," she admitted, giving him a lazy smile.

His orgasm slammed into him, and he kept his eyes fixed on hers as he spurted onto her belly and the valley between her breasts.

"I'll need a few minutes," he told her.

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Ginny felt bad, but she was barely aware of her hand on Harry's penis until it was almost over, and he finished over her breasts and belly. Her mind was too busy replaying what had happened, and wanting to do it again. It was stunning how much _better_ it was than her own hand or her pillow. The two couldn't even be compared.

Her thoughts were interrupted when he shifted so that he lay next to her and pressed his lips to hers and gave her a slow, languid kiss. His mouth was sticky and tasted strange, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Just as she hadn't been able to feel self-conscious, not really, because he'd obviously been enjoying himself. But that reminded her—

"Sorry for telling you not to talk," she said, grimacing a little.

He chuckled again, just like he had the first time. "Believe me, I didn't mind at all," he said. After kissing her forehead, he pulled away and got off the bed. His pajama bottoms slid down, but instead of pulling them back up, he kicked them off.

Ginny watched him. He seemed completely unself-conscious about being naked in front of her; he even reached down and adjusted himself before he pulled back the bedclothes. A part of her wanted to be naked too, but…

"Have you seen my knickers?" she asked, surprising herself.

"Your knickers?" Harry said, as though he had never heard of such a thing. "Er… I don't – I think I threw them somewhere."

Ginny knelt and peered over the side of the bed, looking for a scrap of blue, and feeling more and more perplexed when she couldn't see it. _Where did they go? Did he--_

Harry barked out a laugh. "Ginny… your knickers—"

"Did you banish them?" she asked curiously.

He shook his head, shoulders heaving with laughter. "No," he said, pointing.

Arnold staggered across the floor, making slow progress due to the fact that he was burdened by her knickers. He squeaked almost continuously – not frightened squeaks, but proud squeaks. Calliope watched him from underneath the armoire, big eyes remaining fixed on Arnold. As Ginny watched, the lady pygmy puff took a few hesitant steps forward.

"Look," Harry said, chortling. "He's trying to impress her with his strength – you carry those knickers, Arnold!"

Ginny giggled. "What's worse is that it's actually working," she pointed out. For a few moments, they both watched Arnold's progress.

She sighed. "I suppose I should let him keep them," she said.

Harry agreed, and they both seemed to decide in the same moment that they'd watched Arnold enough. Ginny wanted to feel his arms around her again, wanted to be close to him. She didn't have to wait long; the moment the blankets were over them, Harry held her close.

"I missed you," he told her.

"I know. I missed you too. And I'm sorry—"

"You don't have to be," he said firmly. "It's over. We're together. It doesn't matter."

Ginny thought this just might be the case. He seemed certain of it; he didn't want to dwell on it. He didn't seem to need to hear that she felt really bad for being so wrong about what he was feeling. She pressed a kiss to his chest, and he pulled her even tighter against him.

And somehow, she dozed off. It was only eight in the evening, but her eyes were heavy, and she could hear Harry's heartbeat, and she was so _relaxed_…

She woke up some time later to the feeling of patterns being traced on her back. She sighed, enjoying the feeling of his caress.

"You're awake?"

"Mm hmm," she murmured.

Ginny gradually became aware that Harry's hands were stroking her back with greater purpose. Rather than gentle, feather light touches, they were firmer, more rhythmic. Feeling suddenly restless, she scooted closer and moved her leg up and hooked it around his waist.

They both sucked in a breath when his penis pressed against her belly, through her nightgown. Ginny had been comfortably warm under the covers and wrapped in Harry's arms, but now it was hot. Her limbs felt heavy, and her mind was filled with the memory of watching his head bobbing between her thighs. She could almost feel his tongue on her, licking her.

She moved closer at the same moment he rubbed against her. His hand moved from her back to her thigh and then under her nightgown.

"I'm going to touch you again," he said, his voice husky.

"Yes, please," she said.

His touch was gentle at first, barely even there; his fingers were tickling and playing rather than moving with any real purpose. She moved her leg higher and gasped when his thumb brushed against her clitoris. The tip of his finger swirled around, spreading the moisture, and then delved inside her.

She gave herself into the sensation for long moments, allowing him to arouse her slowly, letting the desire build. Then she opened her eyes, and tilted her head to find Harry staring at her intensely, mouth parted, and she wanted to make him feel the same way she felt. And she stroked his side, smiling when he quivered.

He was hard and heavy when she gripped him. Whispered words reached her ears, loving words, as he thrust into her hand. And without even thinking about it, really, she shifted, until her nightgown was no longer in the way. Instead of moving her hand in a way that she knew would bring him to orgasm, she pressed the head of his penis to her clitoris. His hand convulsed and he withdrew it, shuddering.

Slowly, she used him to rub herself in a circular motion. His hand was on her back again, pulling her closer, urging her on. And for once, he wasn't talking at all. His gaze was fixed on hers. With every circle, she moved him closer to where she really wanted him most, until, finally, he was _there_.

Her throat worked. "I'm going to…" she started. But she didn't have his easy way with words, so she pulled him even closer, to show him instead. Amazingly, his penis was even hotter than she was. A moan escaped her, and she watched as he flushed. But he still looked slightly uncertain, so she leaned forward and kissed him, and guided the tip of him inside her.

He thrust tentatively at first, and then so enthusiastically, that he slipped out.

"Sorry," he whispered against her mouth.

It broke the tension, in a way. He rolled her over until he was on top of her, and this time, she was the one who clutched at his back, and he was the one who guided his penis to her entrance. And because he still looked uncertain, she stroked his calf with her foot and moved against him.

His hand shook as he brushed the hair out of her face. And then he slipped all the way inside her with an ease that she hadn't expected. She arched up against him, gasping. He groaned her name, but he didn't move just yet. For long moments, he held completely still, and the only sound in the room was their labored breath.

And then he rocked against her, and she felt just the barest hint of his thrust.

"You really – this is the best feeling in the world," he said shakily.

His thrusts remained slow and easy for so long that it was almost unbearable. And he kissed her so sweetly and for so long that neither one of them noticed for a long while that tears were spilling out of her eyes. Ginny wasn't even aware that she was crying, nor did she even _feel_ like crying. But him being inside her felt so _good_ that she couldn't even help it.

Once he was aware of it, he pulled back, and stopped moving. "You're crying? Ginny, I—"

"I'm not," she shook her head firmly, wrapping her arms tightly around him and pulling him back down to her until his head was buried in her shoulder. She moved her hips. "It's just – it feels…"

It was just completely unlike she thought it would be. Harry's arms and his body sheltered her. And it was so warm and so _safe_ in their cocoon of blankets. She wrapped her legs around his hips, wanting to feel him deeper, as deep as he could go.

Stroking her fingernails along his spine, she whispered, "I love you."

He kissed her fiercely then, and surged up inside her, moving with new urgency, as though her words had kindled something in him – in both of them, Ginny realized, as the desire she felt became sharper. Harry moved his lips from her mouth to her neck, and as he thrust inside her harder, he told her how much he loved her and how lovely she was, and how—

"I had no idea," he said, panting.

The further she spiraled away out of control, the tighter she clutched him. With every move he made, he groaned, and she answered it. _I love you._ "I love you," she said again.

His thrusts grew more erratic. He was close, but so was she. Dimly, she registered that the headboard was knocking against the stone wall, and he gasped her name over and over again, and she couldn't help the cries that were practically ripped out of her throat.

And suddenly waves of pleasure crested over her, and she arched up against him and _shattered._ But it didn't seem to end there. He surged up, and then again. Suddenly, there was a new slickness, and he rocked against her. Her hands slid down his back; it was wet with sweat. He pressed kisses all over her face: her forehead, her cheeks, even her nose, and finally her mouth.

Both of them were shaking by the time Ginny finally relaxed her grip.


	26. You Really Got a Hold on Me

31 March 2002

Easter celebration was in full swing at the Burrow. Ron lounged on the sofa, lazily watching various members of his family talk and laugh together, feeling quite full. Dinner had been _delicious_. His mum had truly outdone herself tonight, Ron couldn't help but think.

But just when he was contemplating going back to the kitchen for another slice of pie, George caught his eye. And it was like his brother was shouting in his ear: _What the hell, Ron? Just tell them!_ Ron couldn't exactly blame him. They'd decided after Harry had left that Ron would be the one to tell them, but keeping it secret was hard on George. He had taken to avoiding Fred, afraid that his twin would somehow pluck the secret out of midair.

It was hard for Ron not to talk, too. All throughout dinner he kept thinking that two people were missing from the table. This was normal, though. What was unusual was the fact that both Harry and Ginny would be back… they'd finally be here, fully. _Tell them for me, Ron. When I see them, I want them to already know._

_When._

Maybe this time next year, Harry would be here too. Ron could almost see him sitting on the sofa, mocking him when Ron said something to annoy Hermione, or thanking Ron's mum profusely for dinner, and patiently answering all of Ron's dad's questions about Muggle stuff. And he'd be laughing right along with Ron at the way Percy was so pompously explaining how important his job was, and how he was on the track for a stellar career.

"And Melinda Wilkins – the Senior Undersecretary for the Chief Mugwump of the Wizengamot, you know – said that I—"

"Harry told me what happened at Malfoy Manor," Ron blurted out.

Silence fell so abruptly that it was like all the words were sucked out of the Burrow, fleeing into the night. Percy stopped talking, but forgot to close his mouth. Ron felt sort of bad for just blurting it out like that, but how else was he supposed to do it? Hermione, beside him, stroked his arm, giving him strength.

"Excellent timing, Ron," George said. His casual words belied the serious expression on his face.

Ron glanced at his mum, and then at his dad. Their faces were frozen and unreadable. It was going to take some tricky work to not reveal exactly why Harry had come to them. Ron took a deep breath.

"Start at the beginning," Hermione suggested softly.

"Well, you know how Harry is," he said. "He blames himself for everything, you know."

Fred took advantage of his pause. "Yeah, we know that Harry's got issues with guilt. He hasn't come around here, has he?"

"Fred, be quiet," his mum murmured.

"Trouble was, Voldemort knew it too," Ron said, as if neither of them had spoken. "Everything happened to Ginny because Voldemort wanted to completely fuck with Harry's head -- using that mental connection they had--"

"Apparently, Harry saw almost everything," Hermione said in a soft voice. "Forced to watch it--"

"And _then_ Voldemort told Harry that if Harry let Voldemort kill him, he'd let Ginny go," Ron added. It infuriated him as much to retell it as it had when he'd first heard it. He paused, and glanced at his dad again. "You know, all these years, I've thought that Harry was completely mental and I didn't understand why or how he could possibly blame himself. But it was sort of like with Ginny and you, Dad--"

His mother moaned. "They did use the Imperius Curse on him?" she said, eyes wide with horror. "Ever since Ginny told us the truth, I've been _certain_ that he was forced to -- that they--"

"No!" Ron said sharply. "That wasn't what I meant. I thought that too, though," he added, glad to know that he'd not been the only one. "But that's why he killed the Death Eaters. No, I meant that Ginny's -- well, that her issues with Dad are pretty understandable. Not that it's Dad's fault--"

"Enough, Ron," his dad said harshly. "Get to the point."

"Er -- right," Ron swallowed. But the sudden anger and hurt on his dad's face made it hard to think.

"Harry took Voldemort up on his offer," George piped up.

"What?" Fred turned and gaped at him. "You knew? And you didn't tell me?"

"I was there when Harry came," George said quietly. "It wasn't pretty, Fred."

For almost an entire minute, the only sound was the crackling of the fire. Ron avoided the eyes of his family. For the first time, he actually considered whether or not the rest of his family would think about what happened the way Ron did. His dad was not in the best place. What if they saw things the way Harry saw them? Not all of them, Ron knew. With a start, he realized that his palms were sweating and his heart was thumping, and he fully understood why Harry wanted Ron to do this.

"Dad, Harry was a Horcrux," Ron said.

"A Horcrux?" Percy adjusted his glasses; he was the first to recover. "How is that even possible?"

"What do you _mean_ he was a--?"

"So... that means he...?"

Hermione held up her hand. "It happened when he first got hit with the Killing Curse, when he was a baby."

She told them everything (except Harry and Ginny's relationship now); Ron was grateful that he didn't have to say it, but was able to watch their faces. Bill and Percy were simply shocked, and didn't seem to know what to say. Fleur's eyes were wide and horrified. His mum had her hand over her mouth, and her brow was furrowed, as though she didn't quite understand. Hermione's voice seemed to echo around the room: _He meant to die for her._ And Ron saw it reflected in the faces of his family.

Except for his dad. The expression on his face was completely unreadable. Instead of the sympathy and understanding and even awe that Ron felt, his dad's face was blank. _Don't blame him, Dad,_ Ron wanted to say. And six months ago, Ron knew that his dad wouldn't even think about it. But the truth about what had been done to Ginny had been a huge blow; one that Ron could scarcely comprehend.

Everyone had a flurry of questions. Ron let Hermione answer them. And even when his dad left the room, slipping out the door with no one but Ron noticing, Ron kept his eye on where his dad had stood, wondering if it had been too soon to hope that Harry would be able to come home.

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01 April 2002

"Thank Merlin you're awake," Harry said in a voice thick with sleep and desire.

In truth, Ginny hadn't been _that_ awake, but the sound of his voice and the feel of him rubbing against her brought her out of sleep. "This is the best way to wake up," she said. He had one hand on her belly, and the other cushioned her head, and their bodies fit together like spoons.

His fingertips stroked her belly, tracing unknown patterns on her skin, and then moved up to the undersides of her breasts. Ginny took a deep breath and arched back. He moaned against the side of her neck, and pushed his erection against her, playing with her nipples until they hardened.

This would be the fourth time they'd made love. Easter Sunday had basically been spent getting to know each other's bodies, and the thought of it further inflamed her. Especially the last time, when Harry had wrapped himself around her right after she finished her shower and stepped out of his small bathroom. He'd mentioned something about imagining her in there, wet and naked, and he'd kissed her so wildly that she'd pulled him down to the floor.

It was Harry's whole-hearted enthusiasm for sex that made things easier, Ginny knew. There was this look on his face right before he finished inside her: eyes wide, cheeks flushed, lips parted, and looking at her with a sort of awe, as though she'd done something wonderful. And she really liked how his penis and his hands and his mouth made her body feel, but Ginny had lost count of how many times Harry had expressed how amazing it felt for him, and that was just as good as her orgasms.

Strange but true.

Harry interrupted her thoughts by sliding his hand down her body, gripping her knee, and lifting it, opening her.

"You're wet already," he said, sounding surprised.

"Mm hmm," she murmured. "I've been -- I've been thinking about you." She gasped when two of his fingers found her opening and pushed inside.

At the same time, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "I love that I can make you wet," he said smugly. Ginny tried to laugh -- he sounded so pleased with himself -- but it came out as a gasp when his thumb rubbed her clitoris. "And make that sound," he added, rubbing himself more insistently against her bum. "Ginny -- can we, like this?" To make his point clear, he stopped stroking her and reached between their bodies and adjusted himself, until his penis was right up against her.

"Mm hmm," she said again, wiggling.

Harry slid up inside her, groaning. She pushed back automatically, reaching down for his hand and squeezing it. "This feels incredible," he whispered. He began gently, as he always did, small thrusts that pushed him deeper and deeper.

And it felt really good, and judging by Harry's moans and increased speed (both with talking and thrusting), he felt really good too. But Ginny just couldn't get there. Her stomach quivered, her back arched, and she couldn't help but cry out when he lifted her leg higher, but it was as though she had come to a plateau, and she just... couldn't... orgasm.

She missed the feel of his chest on hers. Ginny wanted to wrap her arms around him tightly, like she had before, but even though she gripped his hand with both of hers, it wasn't enough. The heavy weight of his body wasn't on her, they weren't_close_ enough, even with his penis inside her.

"Ginny -- I can't," he muttered, panting. "I have to -- this is _wow_, and I -- I'm going to--"

"It's okay," she said, squirming, helping him. "It's okay. Let go." She twisted her head so she could watch his face; he pumped into her twice more and then she felt him finish. His arms convulsed around her, and he pressed a hot kiss on her lips.

"I love you," he said. "But I can't just--"

Instead of finishing his sentence, he slipped out of her and pulled her on to her back. "My favorite part," he murmured. "Is knowing you had _your_ pleasure." He paused, considering. "Though mine really does come a close second, I have to admit."

But his mouth closed over her nipple, and she was too distracted to answer him.

He spent some time with each breast, but soon enough he was kissing his way down, swirling his tongue in her navel and moving further. Then, suddenly, his head popped up, and he eyed her strangely.

"Am I supposed to do this?" he asked.

"I _hope so_," she said before she could stop herself.

A satisfied grin flickered over his face before his brow furrowed. "I just -- the book didn't _say_ -- and what if I--"

Ginny firmly cut off his babbling. "What's going on? And what book?"

"Well," he hedged. "I'm going to -- with my mouth -- but I just finished there. And my -- it'll still be there."

Her face abruptly felt very hot. There were spells for this sort of thing, her brothers used to laugh about them when they thought she wasn't listening. "Haven't you ever--?" she whispered, mortified. And she was completely unprepared to ask him if he'd ever wanked before, and needed to clean up. So instead she made a gesture with her hand, which was even worse, she discovered too late.

And then she remembered he'd _done_ this particular spell before at least once, after she'd used her hands on him. "You _know_there's a spell," she said accusingly.

"Yeah, but -- it'll work _there_?"

Something in her eyes must have told him to abandon this line of questioning, for he rolled over and fumbled for the wand on his nightstand. He muttered a spell that Ginny knew all boys learned around the age of thirteen; she felt a certain warmth, and then he was back.

"What's this book?" she asked.

He pretended like he hadn't heard her. "Where was I?"

"Telling me about the book," she pressed.

"It's just a book," he said evasively. And then he gave her a long, slow lick, effectively flipping a switch in her brain, and the part of her that could conduct a successful interrogation was turned off.

_I'll ask him later._

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05 April 2002

It was Friday before Ginny finally cornered him and forced him to tell her about the book.

Harry glanced around the Quidditch pitch. They'd just landed, and were now planning to visit Hagrid, and it simply wasn't possible to employ the methods of distraction he had grown quite fond of in the last several days. Even now, walking beside her and too far away to touch, his body had a pleased, happy feeling.

He looked down at her. The sun shone in her face, but he could tell that her smile was sly and her eyes glinted with mischief. Harry often thought that her natural temperament was most like the twins. "What book?" he asked, trying to sound as innocent as he could. It's not that he didn't want to tell her (at this point, he was only mildly embarrassed about it), but they'd made sort of a game of it.

She widened her eyes at him and turned around, facing him, walking backward through the tall grass of the shortcut to Hagrid's hut. "I don't know, Harry, that's what _you're_ supposed to tell _me_," she said.

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Harry lied, grinning at her.

Calliope chose that moment to attempt to escape, leaping from her bag and rolling around in the grass. Arnold started peeping excitedly, wanting to join the fun as well. Harry dropped his Firebolt and reached out for the pygmy puff. His fingers brushed her soft fur before she hopped away. He narrowed his eyes at her. "So that's the way of it, is it?" he asked. Calliope twittered and leapt away. It took far longer than Harry had expected. "So much for my Seeking skills," said Harry, to Ginny's great amusement. Her laughter rang in his ears, and by the time he finally captured the pygmy puff, he was on his hands and knees and covered in dirt and grass.

"Why didn't you just summon her?" Ginny asked, giggling as he brushed off his robes.

"That would've been cheating," Harry said easily. Plus, it had distracted her from her questions. His smile widened.

She'd retrieved his Firebolt from where he'd thrown it, and was now passing both it and her Nimbus 2121 back and forth from hand to hand. Something told him that she hadn't been distracted at all. "What if I told you I wouldn't give this back until you told me about the book?" she asked smugly. "And you can't summon it, that would be cheating," she added in a sing-song voice.

"I'd buy a new one," Harry told her, just as smug.

"Hmm," she said, tapping her chin. "What if I held your cloak, and the Marauder's Map for ransom? Would you tell me then?"

Harry pursed his lips, pretending to think. "No-o," he said slowly. They'd resumed walking, but she still went backward, so she could keep her eyes on him. He looked over her shoulder, making sure there weren't any obstacles in her path that she couldn't see. "I've already lived without those," he said. "I can do it again."

"What if I stole all the things Hermione just gave back to you?"

That was an easy answer. The owl from Hermione returning all of the things he'd left behind had shocked him, and he'd enjoyed looking through it, seeing his old, broken wand and old clothes. "We might have to negotiate with the photograph album," he admitted. "But," he added hurriedly, because she looked entirely too happy with herself for finding his weak point, "I could always just steal them back from you."

"Let me get this straight," she said. "I could take your broom, your family heirlooms, possibly even the clothes on your back, and you still wouldn't tell me about the book? You know that just makes me want to know more," she told him devilishly. "I may have to resort to drastic measures."

Harry thought he knew what was coming, and he felt a tingle of anticipation. He was very glad that it was still Easter break, and they were quite alone on the grounds. Though they weren't touching, and actually had a respectable distance between them, Harry was pretty sure that the look on his face -- and hers -- wasn't hiding anything. "Resort to drastic measures all you want," he said firmly.

"Mmm," she said. "What if I said that until you tell me about your book, I won't let you see me naked?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "What about half-naked?" he asked, thinking that if it was the bottom half, he would hardly be limited at all.

"All clothes on," she told him.

"Oh, so you want to play _mean_," Harry said dramatically. "I would've thought that you'd take pity on me... I'm not a Weasley, you know. I haven't got extortion down to an art form." He knew it was time to give up his secret. She was teasing him, but he hadn't missed the fleeting vulnerability in her eyes. Now was the perfect time to end the game. "All right," he said, trying to sound pitiful. "The book is -- look out, there's a branch behind you," he warned her. She turned her head and maneuvered over it. "It's basically... everything I needed to know about sex," he said in a low voice.

She raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

And despite how comfortable he felt with her, he actually felt a bit more flustered than he thought he would be. "I wanted to -- _you know_ -- figure things out before... well, before," he said, ruffling his hair. "It helped," he shrugged. "I mean -- I had more of a clue what to do." He paused. "Sorry if you thought I was just naturally good," he added playfully.

The look on her face was so sly that Harry suddenly wished that they were heading back to the castle, back to his rooms, and back to bed, instead of off to have dinner with Hagrid. "It _was_ very informative," she said, to his shock. Her face was bright red, but she appeared to be enjoying herself a great deal. "Especially the later chapters. With the moving illustrations."

Harry gaped at her.

She winked at him.

"How did you--?"

She finally turned around and walked the right way, marching down the hill, and giving him a knowing look over her shoulder. "I summoned it – you know, _Accio book!_ -- the first time I was alone after you let it slip."

Harry threw back his head and laughed.

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07 April 2002 – 12 April 2002

It seemed fitting that Ginny's period started on Sunday, the day that all of the other students would return to Hogwarts. Dismay and embarrassment filled her. She was going to _miss_ sex, damn it. It seemed unfair that they'd only just started having it a week ago, and now they had to stop for a little while.

And she couldn't just not tell him why she had to take a small break from their intimacies; he'd think she didn't want to sleep with him or that she'd changed her mind. Despite the fact that he'd mentioned it to her during their fight, Ginny got the feeling that he wouldn't know what she was talking about unless she spelled it out for him.

After dinner was served in the Great Hall, and they returned to Harry's rooms, Ginny gathered up her courage. "Harry, I know you want to… be intimate tonight," she said, face burning.

"You don't?" he asked. A guarded look came into his eyes, exactly what she'd worried about. Harry was making an effort, she knew, but she also knew that he was still pretty vulnerable. And Ginny was more than aware that it took longer than a day to change thought patterns that had been seared into one's brain.

"Well…" she hedged.

"If it's too much, you can tell me," he said earnestly. "Or – I suppose you are telling me," he added. "I know we've been doing it a lot, but… you know we don't have to. It just feels good, and I love being that close to you, and—"

"Harry," she interrupted. "It isn't that I don't want to, believe me," she said, with more emphasis than she'd really intended. "I _can't. Physically._" She silently willed him to understand.

It took him fifteen seconds to catch her meaning. "Oh," he said, sounding relieved and surprised. "Oh, that's…" his voice trailed off, and he looked down at Arnold, who was dancing for Calliope again.

"Do you want to play Exploding Snap?" Ginny offered.

The next few days passed quietly. It was almost as though they'd returned to the stage of their relationship before Ginny had touched him, except it was better. They were far more comfortable around each other, for one. One evening, Harry had even randomly brought up her family. He didn't tell her she ought to talk to them, of course.

But he told her stories she'd never heard before about how her brothers and parents had put their lives on the line to help others. Muggle families had been protected, the war effort had continued, and the Weasleys had been right at the center of it. Ginny had known about their involvement, of course, but not the specifics; her mother had tried so hard to keep the darker details from her ears.

And he didn't just tell her about the war, but also how much their support had meant to him. And how they'd made him feel a part of the family, and how he'd been less lonely. He didn't come right out and say how much he loved her family, but it was apparent to Ginny.

It had the desired effect, and she began composing actual conversations in her head for when she'd see them next time, whenever that would be.

_Soon,_ thought Ginny.

The first week of resumed classes passed slowly, and with nothing out of the ordinary happening (except that Pollux Sennet seemed to be even more annoying than usual, but his attempts to find her alone were continually thwarted) and Ginny was inordinately delighted when Friday came. And not just because her period had ended, though that was a large part of her happiness. It was Friday, and she didn't have Quidditch practice, and the entire weekend was ahead of her.

And even though at breakfast in the Great Hall she was sort of haunted by the nagging feeling that she'd forgotten something, she was able to shake off the confusion as soon as Harry's class began.

But then she was haunted by something else.

"We're having another practical lesson," Harry announced to no one's surprise. He had never pretended to like lecturing. "Find a partner."

Ginny avoided Dennis Creevey's attempts to catch her eye, and paired up with Demelza.

"You're going to beat me dismally," Demelza said wryly. "I wish Emma hadn't accidentally poisoned herself in Potions."

"I'm not necessarily going to beat you," Ginny said, surprised.

Demelza rolled her eyes. "Oh, please," she said good-naturedly. "Everyone knows you're the best in the class."

"Before all of you have a go at each other," Harry said loudly, looking over at two Ravenclaw girls who hated each other, and always paired up in order to duel together. "I'm only making one condition – besides that you can't do any permanent damage to each other," he added hastily. "All of your spells have got to be non-verbal," he told them. "I don't want to hear anyone talking."

Ginny was barely able to listen to what he was saying. For sometime in the middle of his speech, it had hit Ginny that Harry was her professor. And even though she had a prior connection to him, and that he'd never acted like he had any sort of authority whatsoever over her (if anything, he acted as though the opposite was true, though their relationship was definitely that of two equals now), he was still her _professor._

She mechanically went through the motions of dueling, keeping one eye surreptitiously on Harry all the while. He walked around the class, adjusting grips, and offering house points and compliments and instructions. And she couldn't help but think, as she listened to him admonish Casper Street for casting a spell out loud, that it was a wicked little secret they had.

A wicked, _arousing_ little secret.

Ginny tried to turn her mind off and just duel, but Harry kept distracting her. Whenever he spoke, she remembered what he sounded like just before he finished inside her. And if she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye, she thought about how he liked to cuddle after. And that he usually woke up hard, and he liked sex first thing in the morning.

_And I'm the only one in class that knows all of this,_ Ginny thought.

Harry gave one of the Ravenclaw girls detention for a particularly nasty hex, and Ginny pictured him naked and erect.

"You all right, Ginny?" Demelza asked, sounding concerned.

"Oh," said Ginny. "I'm sort of… not feeling very well."

Harry chose that moment to join them. "You two seem to be doing well," he said. "I saw an excellent hex coming from you earlier, Demelza, but I was over on the other side of the room."

"I've only hit her twice," Demelza said. "And only because she isn't feeling well."

Harry glanced at her sharply. "Do you need the hospital wing?" he asked.

Ginny shook her head mutely, trying futilely to not think of his body entwined with hers. _On his desk,_ the wicked little thought crossed her mind. Somehow, she managed not to blush. "Just a little stomach upset," she said flippantly.

Luckily, class ended soon after that.

Ginny lingered after the rest of the students had left – not that she didn't always, but this time she had something of import to tell him, and they had to be alone for it. She stifled a giggle behind her hand as the door swung shut behind Demelza.

"Are you really sick?" he asked, laying his palm over her forehead.

Ginny replied by reaching out and stroking his thigh, and was rewarded when he sucked in a breath. "I'm not sick at all," she said, blushing. "It's over. I can be with you again."

HPHPHPHPHPHP

12 April 2002

Ever since Ginny had told him she was ready to have sex again, Harry had to concentrate on not having an erection all day. Little thoughts (memories and fantasies combined) kept popping into his head at inopportune moments. While the fourth year students practiced disarming each other, Harry had to keep repressing how it had felt when she'd run her hand up his leg and said, blushing, that it was over. It had been a long five days.

_Happy Friday,_ Harry thought as he walked to his office at the end of the day. He'd really missed being inside her -- her kisses were brilliant, and the cuddling was great. But while they kissed, she didn't hold him so tightly (in what he now thought of fondly as her death grip) that he felt like she was trying to turn them into one person. And when they cuddled, she didn't knead his back like a cat. He missed how she cried out when he was doing things right, and the--

"Knut for your thoughts?" Ginny asked, pushing herself away from the wall.

Harry grinned stupidly, grateful that they were alone in the corridor, because he was pretty certain that he wasn't hiding anything. "They're worth more than a knut," he said cheerfully. He didn't touch her until they were in his office and the door was firmly closed. And he was about to apologize for what was about to happen -- he was about to lose control. She was still close to the door -- she was locking it and putting up a Silencing Charm, good thinking -- and she was perfectly positioned. He could--

"Come here," she said roughly, flushing. Harry threw his cloak in the corner of the office. It just missed the hearth, and lighting on fire. She tugged his shirt, pulling him toward her. Harry bent his head and kissed her. To his relief, her kiss was just as hungry as his; and when he pushed her up against the door, she used his shoulders to move higher, until they were pressed intimately together. They moved their hips together.

Harry pulled his lips from hers; before she could protest, he flicked his tongue against her earlobe. At the same time, he brought his hand up, intending to undress her; he needed to see her breasts. But her robes -- _she's wearing way too many clothes_ -- were twisted around her body, and he couldn't even find the opening, let alone get them off of her. "I wish you were wearing a skirt," he murmured against her neck.

"Mm hmm," she said, arching against him.

Harry ignored the problem for a few moments. He reached around and gripped her bum. "Have I told you how much I love your bum?" he asked, squeezing it gently. "Don't get me wrong," he said, dimly aware of what he was actually saying. "I love everything about you. Your bravery, your sense of humor, the way you understand me...." he moved his lips to her collarbone, delighted when she moaned and rolled her hips against his erection. "But your bum... it has a special place in my heart--"

He felt her laugh. "I know," she told him. "I caught you... looking at it... before Christmas break."

"It made me crash into a tree," he said blissfully. Her warm hands had found an opening in his shirt and stroked his chest the way he wanted to do to her. He shuddered under her touch. "At first I had no clue," he told her. "Had no idea until the next day in my shower that the... reason I crashed... was because your robes went up _just right_..."

She interrupted him, gripping his chin, and giving him a hot, open-mouthed kiss that inflamed him even more. "In the shower?" she asked breathlessly, pulling away. Harry looked at her, extremely pleased that her eyes were wide and dilated. "Does that mean that you -- that when you -- well, I mean, I've heard what men do in the shower sometimes -- you've thought about me?"

"Er--"

Suddenly, she looked mortified. "I didn't mean -- if you _haven't_, I don't mind--"

"A lot," Harry told her, rubbing himself against her even harder, just to prove his point.

"_Really_?"

Unbelievably, it seemed to arouse her further.

"Uh huh," he said. "And not just in the shower," he told her, unable to stop himself. "In the chair over there, right after... do you remember when you showed me the charm? I couldn't concentrate... and then... right after you left..."

She kissed him then, fiercely. _I'll have to tell her about all the other times,_ Harry thought dazedly. But then she reached around and grabbed his bum, pulling him tighter against her. And then, suddenly, it was _imperative_ that he get those robes (and the rest of her clothes) off of her _now_--

"Harry, Harry, wait," she said, panting. Instead of pulling him closer, she was pushing him away. Confused, he stepped back -- it took only a second to miss the pressure, and ached to thrust against her, inside her.

"Can we--?" she bit her bottom lip, and gestured. Toward the desk.

"The desk?"

"Yes," she said. Her face was bright red, and her smile was a mixture of fleeting shyness, desire, and... naughtiness? His eyes widened. "_Professor,_" she added.

The implications hit him, really hit him, then. He'd known all along that his relationship with her wouldn't exactly be condoned by the public. He didn't care what they thought, of course; Ginny was special. Their relationship wasn't tawdry; they were in love. But for an instant, he took a step back, and saw that even though they were in love, there was still the lure of the forbidden. He was a professor. And he was about to have sex with his student on his desk,

Harry hadn't thought he could get any harder, but suddenly it was almost painful.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the desk. With his other hand, he undid his belt, opened his trousers, and let them fall to the floor, kicking them off completely. Then, on second thought, the memory of the handy spell he'd found in his book (one that would take care of Ginny's robes and clothes) flitted across his mind, and he grabbed his wand. It was a non-verbal spell, and he thought, with all his might, of getting her naked and--

To his dismay, instead of the clothes melting off of her and folding themselves neatly, they... turned into rags, formless and shapeless. Ginny gaped down at herself, clutching them. "The -- all the stitching is gone," she said, shocked.

But Harry could see her nipples, and the haze of desire closed over him once more. "I'll fix it, I swear," he promised rashly. "But not now. Please," he said. He was delighted when she nodded, and let the remnants of her clothing fall.

"Are you ready?" he asked softly.

"I've been thinking about it all day," she told him. "_Professor._"

_Not much of one,_ he thought. He lifted her with one arm, and swept the papers off the desk with the other. Her bum had just barely met the edge of the desk, when he took himself in his hand and positioned the head of his penis at her entrance. He stroked up and down, shuddering when he felt how slick she was, how wet. For him. "I'm going inside you," he said. "_Miss Weasley._"

She whimpered and wrapped her arms and legs around him.

Groaning, Harry pushed himself inside her, inch by inch. "You're so hot," he said. Right away, he could tell that the angle of penetration was going to get him in trouble. He was already close. And he knew that he could use his mouth and tongue to give her her orgasm, but he loved the feeling of the walls of her vagina contracting around him, squeezing him, when she climaxed. And he wanted to hear her cries grow louder and louder every time he thrust inside her.

He held onto that thought by a thread and forced his own orgasm back. "You're going to have to finish fast," he told her. Her words (or his, he couldn't remember, not when his body felt like it was going to explode) that long ago December day, the afternoon after she'd first kissed him. _Sometimes we'll have to pretend to be professor and student._ His lips curled almost involuntarily in a smile. He'd never thought it would be during a time like this. "Consider it a... homework assignment... or a quiz," he said panting, and moving faster. His arms tightened around her, keeping her in a sitting position; he didn't want his thrusts to push her over.

"Yes, Professor," she moaned.

Her cries grew louder.

And suddenly it was too much. He couldn't keep squatting a little, and supporting all of her weight. So he leaned her back until she was laying on the desk, and he was laying on top of her. Her death grip was strong and getting stronger. "Finish for me," he said, almost begging. His control was slipping through his fingertips, pushed further away by her cries and the way she was clasped so tightly to him and her fingers kneading his back. "Ginny," he gasped, pumping into her.

She arched, and he could feel her nipples hard against his chest. "_Harry!_"

And then he felt it. She clenched around him, rippling around his penis. Two more thrusts, and his own orgasm overtook him. He buried his head in the crook of her neck and slowed his movements, groaning. By the time his orgasm ended, her grip had relaxed, and she stroked his hair. He couldn't even think straight for long minutes. "I didn't know it would be that... that..."

"Arousing? It hit me earlier while you were teaching," she admitted.

He snorted. The motion made him slip out of her. Still, he rested against her, lifting his head so he could press gentle kisses on her face. She caressed his back through his shirt. Harry wanted to keep holding onto her, but he was starting to get uncomfortable, bent almost double. Reluctantly, he pulled away, and stared down at the remains of her clothing. He'd promised he'd fix it for her, but he really had no clue how. He was just about to suggest he go grab his Invisibility Cloak and she could--

Someone rapped on the door.

Both of them froze, and a look of horror passed between them.

"Professor Potter."

It was Professor McGonagall's voice.

Ginny catapulted into action. Harry watched, disoriented, as Ginny gathered up her things.

"Get dressed," she hissed at him. A giggle exploded out of her, which further confused him. "I'll be back," she said.

_Back from where?_

Harry moved toward his trousers and stepped toward them.

Ginny grabbed the cloak he'd discarded, wrapped it around herself. In one smooth motion, she waved her wand -- the papers he'd knocked aside in his hurry to be inside of her flew back onto his desk -- and grabbed a handful of floo powder from the small jar on the mantle. "The Burrow!" she said, and instantly whirled away in green flames. Harry watched the flames die down.

_The Burrow?_

But he didn't have time to wonder what the hell was going on. There was another knock at the door.

Harry tucked his shirt into his trousers, grateful, for once, that he'd never actually cultivated a neat appearance, and opened the door, feeling completely unprepared for what might happen next. Did McGonagall know? Had they been found out?

McGonagall was not alone. Three Gryffindor second-years stood with her, looking both sheepish and defiant. She was not paying attention to Harry at all, to his great relief. "Er -- can I help you?" he asked.

"These three," she indicated Method, Barnett, and Powell, "have something to tell you."


	27. I Forgot to Remember

12 April 2002

"Can we come in?" McGonagall raised her eyebrows after Harry had stared at her for several seconds longer than necessary.

Harry shuffled awkwardly to the side, heart thumping in his chest -- both from fear of being caught and from the aftermath of really great sex -- and allowed McGonagall and the second year Gryffindors to enter. He cast a nervous glance around the room, hoping that it didn't look too much messier than usual, and, for the first time, had cause to be grateful that his lack of tidiness was well-known with the professors.

The chair was set pretty far away from the desk, but for the most part, it did not seem incredibly obvious that he and Ginny had just engaged in wonderfully illicit activities. _Stop smiling!_ he ordered himself.

"I realize this may be a bad time for you," McGonagall said, a surprising amount of sympathy in her voice. "I confess I'm a little surprised that Miss Weasley isn't here with you today."

Harry forced himself to remain still and not betray anything, though for one dizzying second he thought that McGonagall somehow knew that Ginny was off her period and that they could resume their activities. And had resumed those activities with resounding success -- on Harry's desk. His _desk._

"Where _is_ Ginny?" Stuart Method piped up.

Harry shot him a grateful look for jerking him from his thoughts. But the young boy's face was set in mutinous lines, and for the first time since he'd found them at his door, he wondered just what they were here to tell him. The belligerence in his tone was unmistakeable, as was his posture: all three of them stood with their hands on their hips.

"Er--"

"These three seem to think Ginny is in some sort of danger," McGonagall said. Harry had just a moment to process that her lips appeared to be very thin when the words hit him.

_Ginny in danger?_ His brows slammed together. "What do you mean, Ginny's in danger?" The hair on the back of his neck stood up and, dimly, he heard a small cracking sound. He knew, logically, that Ginny was at the Burrow; no one there would hurt her in a million years. But what if--

"They apparently heard her talking to herself today--"

"Or talking to someone under an invisibility cloak," Method muttered sullenly.

"--while they were lurking around the corner to your private rooms," McGonagall continued, though her nostrils had flared at the interruption.

"What did she say?" Harry asked, barely noticing that the students were eyeing him with great disbelief. His brief moment of fury was already fading. Ginny would have told him if something had happened.

"Well... we didn't exactly hear all of it," Powell hedged. "Just her tone -- she sounded upset."

"I don't think she was," Harry said firmly. The last of his anger turned into unease and then ebbed away. Ginny would not have made love to him with such abandon on his desk if she was truly upset about something. She wouldn't have _laughed_ when McGonagall had knocked on the door. "She was probably just..." he cast about for an excuse. "Talking to herself, or to Arnold."

"What did I tell you three?" McGonagall said swiftly. "Professor Potter is likely to know. I'm sure they're grateful for your concern, but in this case, I do not think it justified. As I've told you several times." From the way her voice sharpened at the end, Harry took this to mean that Professor McGonagall would not appreciate this trio sticking their noses where they didn't belong.

"It's nice of you to be concerned, though," Harry felt like he had to add, since it was nice that they obviously cared about what happened to Ginny. At the same time, he made a note to himself to not kiss her or touch her in the corridor outside of his rooms, lest they see anything they shouldn't.

Method exchanged an incredulous look with Powell. "It isn't--"

"Enough, Method," McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip. Harry turned around to hide his smile, and stared at the hearth. He still couldn't believe she'd gone to the Burrow -- why hadn't she gone to Grimmauld Place? Kreacher would've taken care of her. _Not that I don't think it's wonderful she's gone there,_ Harry thought hastily. But he was hoping that Ginny thought quickly on her feet. What if--

"But that boy said--"

Barnett was rudely interrupted by a jab in her ribs from Powell, who glared mutinously over Harry's shoulder.

"Ginny is fine," Harry said again, this time far more firmly.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

12 April 2002

All the Weasley brothers drank together on occasion. Fred and George regularly went out to pubs, and Ron joined them at least twice a month. And Bill always had a fine stash of wine; Charlie loved ale; and Percy was not a big drinker, but he wasn't a prude about it either. It was rare, however, that they all managed to drink together. And rarer still was when their father joined them.

Only two days out of the year did _all_ of the Weasleys (excepting Fleur, and including Hermione) get together with the specific purpose of getting drunk: the anniversaries of the day she was taken, and the day she came back.

Fred gripped the long neck of the bottle of firewhisky he carried and whistled a jaunty tune as he marched up the drive to the Burrow. He'd learned at an early age that pretending to be cheerful was far better than being gloomy and sad. But still – he had to stop just outside the door and brace himself.

He had a feeling that this year would be worse than the others.

Taking a deep breath, Fred took one last look around the ramshackle yard and, kicking over one of the old Wellington boots, pushed open the door to the kitchen. "I'm here," he called, trying to inject a cheery note in his voice. "I brought a bottle," he held it up. Bill and Charlie looked up and gave him matching, grim little smiles. "Think it's enough? Or should I go out and buy a never-ending bottle?"

The other two exchanged glances. Fred rolled his eyes. "Pretending like we aren't getting shit-faced, then?" he asked, more sharply than he intended. It was the same every year. It took at least three drinks before anyone else (besides, ironically, Percy) would admit that they had the intention of getting drunk. And it took five drinks before anyone would admit to the reason _why_ they needed the solace of alcohol.

"Hey, Fred," Charlie said, ignoring him. "You're the last."

"But not late, am I?" Fred asked.

Bill took a long gulp of his red wine. "I don't think anyone set a time," he said, shrugging.

No, on these days, everyone trickled in, clutching bottles like security blankets. When Fred bothered to think about it, he thought it was a strange ritual, and wondered what Ginny would think about it. _Probably horrified and embarrassed,_ Fred thought. Not that she'd tell them that. She'd just disappear into her room for a few days. Or go back to school and not contact anyone.

Fred distracted himself by opening the bottle and taking a swig.

"Fred!" his mother said, bustling into the kitchen, just as steam began pouring out of his ears.

He sighed as the alcohol hit his belly and warmed it. "Yeah, Mum?" he said.

"There are plenty of glasses," she said stoutly. Fred noted that she held a teacup in her hand – he was willing to bet ten galleons and a knut (all he had in his pocket) that her drink was spiked. "I didn't raise you to drink your firewhisky from the bottle."

"Keep your hair on, Mum," he said flippantly (because he _was_ trying to act as normal as possible). He flicked his wand, and a tall glass came zooming out of the cupboard, right into his hand. As he poured a generous measure into the cup (filling it almost to the brim – no need to pretend that he wasn't on a mission), what sounded like a small herd of elephants came from the sitting room and into the kitchen.

George sidled in first, already looking a little fuzzy around the edges. Ron and Hermione were next; Ron had his arm wrapped around his girlfriend and was whispering into her ear.

"Ron!" Fred said exuberantly, as though he had not just seen Ron two nights ago at the Leaky Cauldron. "You've seemed a bit down lately – something on your mind?"

Ron glanced over his shoulder at their father, who, like Fred, was drinking firewhisky straight. "No," said Ron.

Fred took another gulp, and squeezed his eyes shut, gasping. "Hits a bloke right here," he gasped, pounding his chest. He pulled out a chair from the table, turned it around, and straddled it. Percy was the last to join them around the table, and he strode in less confidently than normal.

_There's nothing like a blatant reminder of the torment of someone you were supposed to protect to take the arrogance out a bloke_. Fred grimaced at that thought, and killed the rest of his glass. A pleasant feeling came over him the more he drank, and he wasted no time whatsoever in helping himself to more. And his mum didn't even bother to tell him to slow down. She wouldn't. Not today.

_Everyone's hair looks especially red today,_ he thought inanely.

"Merlin, you're drunk already?" Bill asked in disbelief. Fred blinked at him before realizing that he must've spoken his thought out loud.

"I'm not drunk," Fred said defensively.

"Fred isn't a lightweight," Ron said, swirling his own firewhisky around.

"Thanks, Ron," said Fred. "You're now my favorite brother."

"Hey!" George protested, but it was only half-hearted.

"Twins don't count, Forge," Fred said gravely. But his attempts at humor fell flat, and everyone retreated back into their own private thoughts. Fred avoided looking at either one of his parents. It was one thing to sink into the maudlin. It was quite another to sink right down into despair and self-loathing.

_I'll need another nine or ten drinks for that,_ Fred thought darkly. But he'd get there. He did twice a year. It was inevitable, because everything about the situation just hurt. And there was no outlet for it, not really. Everything about it was just _wrong._ A fourteen year old girl should've been off-limits. Or they should've at least _known_ about it.

Glancing around the table – avoiding his parents again – Fred noted the dark and pensive looks on the faces of his brothers and Hermione, and wondered if they were thinking along the same lines. But he knew they were, because it was also tradition, once they were drunk enough to talk about it, that they all shared their fantasies of what they'd like to do to the ones who had hurt her.

But all of that involved actually knowing what had been happening to Ginny before it was all over.

"You know," Charlie said, staring out the window. "I can still remember where I was four years ago today, and it just wasn't where I should have been. And—"

But Charlie never finished his sentence.

The empty hearth behind George suddenly lit with bright green flames; a whooshing sound filled Fred's ears, and a figure spun into existence, and tumbled out of the hearth.

Ginny was wrapped in a cloak far too large for her, looking extremely disheveled (as though she'd been flying rather than traveling by floo), and carrying a bundle of what appeared to be rags. Her cheeks were bright red, and she looked like she might be on the verge of smiling.

Fred opened his mouth to say something – anything – but found that he simply did not have any words. This was almost as shocking as Ginny's sudden appearance.

"Mum! I—"

But Ginny stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening. She dropped the bundle of rags she was holding and gaped at all of them and the bottles of alcohol. The moment extended, and Fred realized that he wasn't breathing, and everyone else seemed just as incapable of speech as he was.

She hooked her tousled hair behind her ears, and glanced down at the rags, face unreadable. Then she knelt, and gathered them back up, but paused.

_She hates being stared at, moron!_ a little voice in his head screamed at him. But he couldn't help it. Ginny was here, _today_, and looking like – well, looking like she'd just been—

"_Of course_ all of you are here," she gasped. She kept her head down, though, and Fred felt a belated surge of concern.

_Please don't let anything have happened,_ he thought fervently. His hopes died a quick death when he saw her shoulders begin to shake, and dread filled him. His stomach rolled.

Ron half rose from his chair, obviously noticing the same thing he did. His face was very pale. "Ginny, are you--?"

But the sounds that Fred heard were that of laughter, not tears. And then she looked up at them, looking _giddy_ of all things, and _grinning._ Fred's sense of _what the fuck_ grew to previously unseen proportions. Ginny. Kneeling on the floor of the Burrow, holding a bundle of rags that, on closer inspection, appeared to have formerly been clothes. Laughing.

And even though Fred had promised himself after Christmas that if he ever heard her laugh again, he absolutely would not even react to it, but would just act as naturally as possible, he did not do any of these things. Instead, he knocked over his glass, and it rolled off the table and shattered on the ground.

Instead of freezing up, however, this only made her laugh harder.

"Who are you and what have you done with my sister?" Fred finally found his voice.

Ginny seemed to think this was a fine joke.

Fred wasn't kidding. "I'm not kidding," he said, seriously considering Polyjuice.

"Sorry," she said, taking deep, even breaths. "I know I – is this what you lot are doing while I'm at school? Sitting around drinking?" This sent her off in a fresh wave of hilarity. There was an edge of hysteria in it, but… only an edge. Most of it was genuine enjoyment. Or something like it.

Fred glanced around at the rest of his family. Most of them were openly gaping at her, faces frozen in various degrees of shock.

"What on earth has happened, Ginny?" his mother asked, sounding completely flummoxed.

Ginny picked herself up off the floor, careful to keep the cloak wrapped firmly around her. It dragged on the ground a good two feet behind her. "I… had an accident," she said. If Fred didn't know any better, he'd say that she felt sort of guilty about something. "All the stitching in my clothing dis-disappeared," she stammered, holding out the rags as proof. "And I haven't a clue how to fix it," she added, lips twitching.

"I can fix it," his mother said. "But – how in Merlin's name did this happen?"

"Oh," said Ginny. "Well – that's sort of a -- _quite_ the funny story," she continued. Fred had the vague suspicion that she was stalling for time – Merlin knew that _he'd_ tried to concoct stories on the spur of the moment, and wasn't always successful. But what could she be hiding? "I was… trying to transfigure… things," she said evasively. "You know, practicing. And then – oops!"

She erupted into giggles again, and Fred _knew_ she was lying.

"My wand slipped," she added. After glancing fleetingly at Ron, she squared her shoulders and tried (and failed) to look serious. "There was a spider," she added. "But I was just remembering how frightened Ron is of them," she said hastily, as though just recalling the fact that they all knew that she wasn't afraid of spiders.

Fred wondered if she knew how it sounded. She was obviously lying and trying to come up with a story by the seat of her trousers, but did she have any idea what everyone was going to think? Fred specifically remembered coming up with a similar story that hadn't fooled his parents one instant. But that had involved a girl from the village, and trying to convince his mother and father that Fred and the girl had both leapt into a beehive and had been trying to _heal_ each other, and that's why they'd been naked. In the orchard.

But Ginny, of course, hadn't been having sex, had she? Not that she wasn't old enough or anything, but… she hated it when people even mentioned the word, even when referring to gender.

Except… her face was flushed, her hair was tousled, and she was wrapped in a cloak far too large for her, and clutching clothes that had had all the stitching removed from them. If that didn't scream _I've been shagging and couldn't be bothered taking off the clothes the normal way_, Fred didn't know what did.

"And then all of a sudden, everything was just like this," she added, holding out her bundle.

It took almost superhuman effort for Fred not to point out several flaws in her story. For instance, where had the cloak come from? And how had she gotten to a floo without anyone seeing her? He looked over at his twin, ready to share a look of perplexed disbelief; instead, George stared up at the ceiling, an odd sort of half-grimace, half-smile on his face.

Fred narrowed his eyes, vague suspicions starting to form in his mind, and he had a growing sense that he was missing something. But what could he--

"Well," Hermione said strongly. "I think it was very kind of one of the professors to allow you to practice that kind of spell in private."

_What?_ Fred stared at Hermione. Her face was completely guileless.

"Right," Ginny nodded. "I mean, imagine if I'd done this in class," she added. The gratitude on her face confused Fred even further.

_I suppose she could just be really embarrassed,_ Fred thought dubiously. If _Hermione_ believed her story...

"Luckily, my Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is _very_ understanding," Ginny said.

Fred thought he heard George mutter "I'll bet," under his breath, but when he looked over at his twin again, he was drinking his firewhisky, and no one else appeared to have heard him.

"I've always thought that teaching that spell was tricky in the first place," Hermione said staunchly. She glanced around the table, making eye contact with everyone. "Obviously, the consequences of being too exuberant or not knowing how to properly execute it could be rather humiliating for some students."

"I don't even remember learning that one," Charlie said. His brows were drawn together and he looked at their parents. "Maybe you should talk to McGonagall," he said. "That doesn't seem like the type of spell that--"

"It's just a harmless spell!" Ginny said quickly. "There's no need to talk to her. Really. It was my own fault -- no harm done."

"Yes, it's a fully approved part of the curriculum," Hermione added.

Fred was stuck halfway between believing and disbelieving. On the one hand, Ginny showing up wearing a cloak several sizes too large for her and clutching magically altered clothing said one thing. As did her laughter and relaxed demeanor. But on the other... Hermione was backing up Ginny's story, and... what if the evidence of his senses were lying? Besides, this was Ginny. It was perfectly logical to assume that she'd been deeply uncomfortable with that kind of spell, and had preferred to practice it privately.

Still, Fred wasn't convinced. "Why wouldn't you just use McGonagall's office?" he asked before he could stop himself. "You know -- if you were practicing Transfiguration."

"Leave it alone, Fred," Charlie said, kicking him under the table. He obviously had no problem with the story, and thought Fred was a prat for pushing it.

Eyes watering, Fred muttered, "Sorry."

His mother chose that moment to push herself away from the table, bustle around to Ginny, and take the clothes from her. "It's going to take a bit, if the stitching is gone," she said. "I'll have to redo it."

"That's fine," said Ginny, sounding greatly relieved, though still on the verge of laughter. "I'll just... I can go -- wash up. And find something else to wear."

Fred watched her go. No one said anything as they listened to her march up the stairs. It didn't escape any of them that _something_ about her was different. Remembering the way she had left, furious and only wearing her dressing gown, it was even more bizarre that she arrived, flushed and laughing, wearing a cloak that was obviously not her own.

"Does Ginny have a boyfriend?" Percy asked suddenly.

Everyone turned to stare at him. He flushed. "Don't tell me no one else was thinking it," he muttered.

"She does," his mother said absently, gathering up her sewing supplies, and setting the needle and thread to mending the clothes themselves. "Her Quidditch captain."

Fred didn't miss the fleeting look that Ron and Hermione exchanged, and his confusion deepened. _I'm missing something,_ he thought. But just as quickly, he realized that there was no mistaking that Ginny must have been in a professor's office in order to get to the floo. And even he wouldn't have shagged anyone in a Hogwarts office where there was the very real danger of getting caught by one of the professors.

Percy opened his mouth to speak--

"Don't push it," his father said in a hard voice, speaking for the first time since Ginny had arrived. "I don't want anyone pushing her. Is that clear?"

And that was that.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

12 April 2002

Inappropriate laughter erupted out of Ginny as she walked upstairs to the small bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she covered her mouth with one hand to stifle another giggle. Crossing quickly to the shower, she turned on the water as she tried to gather her control and make sure she stopped acting like a complete lunatic before she went back to the kitchen and her family.

It was just – she'd just made love to Harry. Except that making love to Harry was the same thing as shagging her professor. And they'd almost been caught! And then she'd escaped through the floo, only to find her entire family sitting around the kitchen table drinking.

The look on Percy's face especially kept flashing in front of her eyes.  
There had been no choice but to laugh, and once she'd started, it was almost impossible to stop.

_Who are you and what have you done with my sister?_

Fred's voice echoed in her ears, but before she could be swamped by a fresh wave of hilarity, she stopped herself. In a strange way, she felt almost as out of control as she had on Christmas, when Harry had held her after she'd cried. But… this feeling she had was much more pleasant.

Ginny got out of the shower and, wrapping a towel around herself, walked around the corner to the laundry, scrounging for clothes. All of hers were at Hogwarts. She bent down and pulled out a drawer filled with old clothes that were on their way to becoming rags. It took relatively little effort to find a pair of flannel pajama bottoms that had once belonged to Percy, a violently orange Chudley Cannons shirt, and an old dressing gown of her dad's.

Grimacing at the necessity of having to forego underwear, Ginny headed into her room. The clothes were almost absurdly large on her, but at least the shirt and the dressing gown would stay on her body. But the pants kept sliding down her hips, and went out several inches past her toes.

She opened the door again, thinking to shout for her mother, but…

"Hermione!" she called instead.

Ginny was slowly becoming more aware and cognizant of the fact that the Burrow was – astoundingly – warm and comfortable again when there was a sharp knock on the door, and Hermione's voice asking her to open up. "Come in," she said.

Hermione entered, pink-cheeked and halfway smiling. "Hi," she said.

"Hi," Ginny replied, feeling her lips twitch almost uncontrollably. "Sorry," she said. "I can't seem to _help_ it."

Hermione waved her arm so expansively that Ginny realized that the older witch was more than a little tipsy. "It's quite understandable."

"Thank you, _thank you_ for helping me out down there," Ginny said fervently.

For a moment, Ginny was slightly nervous that Hermione was about to lecture her. Truthfully, she'd expected the _you shouldn't date your professor_ speech during the day at Hogsmeade, and now that they were alone together in the privacy of Ginny's room, it seemed almost certain. Instead, Hermione said, "I was just trying to help." Hermione sat down at the end of the bed and plucked at the blanket, not meeting Ginny's eyes.

"I was floundering – I couldn't think of anything," Ginny offered.

"I thought that bringing up a spider was a… unique touch," Hermione said carefully. "Though it helps that they haven't a clue that Harry's the DADA professor; none of them suspect that… well, none of them are going to _push_ you about it."

Ginny nodded. "Good," she said gratefully. "Listen – will you help me cut a few inches off the pajama bottoms? The way today is going I might just amputate my own feet."

Hermione chuckled. "Don't tell me you were the one who banished the stitching," she said. "That's a classic wizard move."

Ginny flushed while Hermione neatly and efficiently took six inches off the pajamas with a few waves of her wand. "No," she said, feeling like her face was on fire. "But the… well – the desk, it was sort of my idea. And maybe he wouldn't have – if I hadn't…"

The older witch's smile was just a little wicked, which helped ease up the embarrassment a little. "I used to have the _biggest_ crush on one of my Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," she said dreamily. "I've thought about that desk… you're very lucky."

_I think Hermione's more drunk than I thought._

But Ginny couldn't deny the fact that it had been incredibly arousing to have sex on his desk. She'd been thinking about it all day, fantasizing about it, and it had been just as exciting as she'd thought it would be—

"—but it _is_ you and Harry, so the rules aren't that important—"

_I wonder if we could do it in his classroom, too?_ she thought, while Hermione babbled. She could see it vividly in her head, and her stomach swooped. Maybe on the floor – or up against a wall – Harry's book was _full_ of ideas. _And Harry probably has a few of his own, too._

"—it's just excellent that today of _all days_—"

Something struck Ginny as slightly off about that sentence, but she was too busy thinking about Harry and his classroom to fully pay attention to Hermione. _We'll have to be a lot more careful,_ Ginny told herself. They'd have to go down in the dead of night… possibly even use the Disillusionment Charm… and have an escape plan—

"—and now you aren't even paying attention to me! Ginny? Ginny!" Hermione accompanied this with shaking her dressing gown.

"Sorry," Ginny said, blushing again. "I'm sorry, I'll pay attention," Ginny told her resolutely. She owed Hermione.

"It's all right," Hermione shrugged one shoulder. "I can guess what you're thinking about."

"D'you… think everyone else knows?" Ginny asked uncertainly.

Hermione eyed her sharply. "None of them are going to say anything about it," she said. "Even if they did know."

"Not even Fred?" Ginny asked dubiously. Fred had never been able to keep his mouth shut when he was sober, and Ginny had had the impression that he was a bit further gone than the rest of the family. Which was strange… what were they—

"No," Hermione said firmly, cutting into her thoughts.

"Well…" Ginny said slowly. "In that case… let's go downstairs."

Back in the kitchen, it was both homey and awkward. Ginny was relieved that Hermione had promised that none of her brothers or her parents would push her on her story, but at the same time, she almost wished they would. She stood with her hands in the pockets of her fathers dressing gown, the various magical objects making soft noises, as no one said anything. Hermione sidled around her and sat next to Ron.

"So," Ginny cleared her throat. Her cheeks flamed, and she deliberately unfocused her eyes and the faces of her family blurred. _Don't think about Christmas, don't think about Christmas,_ she told herself. She didn't want to travel down that path. Maybe they needed to talk about it, maybe they were angry with her after all, but she just wanted to keep on feeling warm and content. "How - er - is everyone?" she added after a long pause.

"Right as rain," Fred said jovially, solidifying her impression that he was drunkest of them all. It was also clear that he was lying for her benefit. Ginny narrowed her eyes.

"Why is everyone drinking?" she asked without really thinking about it. "Not that it's a bad thing," she added in a hurry, not wanting them to think she was being judgmental. Who was she to leave them the way she had on Christmas and then question their drinking habits? "It's just... I don't think I've ever seen you lot -- you know."

"Seems like the right day for it," Fred spoke up again.

Her brow furrowed. There was a thread of intensity in his voice that didn't quite make sense, and Ginny had the growing impression that she was missing something. The silence was oppressive, and everyone exchanged looks. Percy tipped his glass back and refused to look at her. Ginny kept her eyes resolutely away from her dad.

None of them were talking to her, really, or trying to touch her, or even looking at her fully. Ginny's mother was not bustling around her, hands fluttering, trying to draw her into conversation. Her brothers weren't trying to cajole her into laughing or smiling. And Ginny was completely aware that six months ago, this would have been exactly what she wanted. She got the impression that if she walked back upstairs and sat in her room until her clothes were fixed, none of them would say a thing or try to change it.

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, trying to ignore the sudden pain in her stomach. _They don't look distant, exactly,_ she thought. Just cautious. But she couldn't just make an announcement ("Hey, I'm pretty much all right, now, we can carry on as usual"), could she?

_Just talk to them._

Harry had given her that advice, and Ginny sucked in a deep breath and tried it. "Erm… are you celebrating something?"

Apparently this was absolutely the wrong thing to say.

"That isn't funny, Ginny," Charlie said sharply. Whereas before everyone had been avoiding her gaze, now they were gaping at her with varying degrees of incredulity, shock, and even anger on their faces. Tears stung the back of her eyes, and she cursed herself for thinking that coming home would be easy. The burning feeling in her stomach increased tenfold.

"He's right, it isn't," Bill said.

"Bill, Charlie," her mother murmured, but she looked down at her hands, and other than saying their names, didn't say anything further. But Ginny could tell she _wanted_ to from the way her fingers were clasped tightly together.

"Right," Ginny said shakily, nodding. She looked over at the door to the kitchen, and decided that maybe it was too soon, and maybe she should write them a few more letters. And apologize for Christmas. Then she could try to come home again. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, glancing around the table quickly, trying to look at everyone except her dad. "I'll just…" her voice trailed away. "Let me know when my clothes are done."

She had just turned to leave when Hermione took a deep breath. "Ginny," she said, in a heavy tone of disbelief. "You have no idea what day it is, do you?"

"Of _course_ she knows what day it is, Hermione," Percy said disdainfully.

A clock chimed the hour loudly as Ginny's mind took several leaps. "Friday?" she asked. But almost as soon as the word came out of her mouth, it hit her. The nagging feeling that had followed her through breakfast (but had dissipated once her hormones had taken over during Harry's class). The reason why her family was sitting around and drinking, and why her question had offended them so much. It was the twelfth of April, and it had been four years ago today…

She braced herself for the familiar, crippling emotions. And a part of her wanted to jump back through the floo and escape on her broom. Harry would come with her, and she could force the memories away bit by bit. The hearth was so close.

It was chance that stopped her, really. In that first moment of realization, her eyes had flown to her dad's face, and he was… not looking at her. Deliberately avoiding her gaze, even when she knew that he must know that she was looking at him. His head was tilted to the side a little, his eyes fixed firmly on the steaming, amber liquid in his glass.

A year ago she would have been deeply unsettled to know that her family sat around drinking and obviously drowning sorrows and being completely miserable. Briefly, she was slightly surprised that Harry hadn't relaxed his exile to join in. But today, instead of feeling exposed and furious and wanting to hide, she felt really… sad. For them. The longer she stared at her father, and the more resolutely he stared down at her firewhisky, the more the sadness grew, until it blotted out almost everything else.

"I forgot," she said finally, glancing at Percy, who had been a bit mean to Hermione. "I really forgot." _I can't believe I forgot._ Blindly, she reached out for the empty chair, pulled it out, and plopped down.

"Er," Charlie said, looking stunned. "But…"

"That's brilliant, Ginny," Ron said in too loud a voice. He beamed sloppily at her, and tilted his glass to her before taking a long swig.

Before anyone else could say anything, Ginny summoned Fred's bottle of firewhisky, leaving his fingers to clutch at air instead of the neck of the bottle. She tipped her head back and took a long drink of the heady alcohol, feeling it burn in her mouth, down her throat, and into her belly. The knots loosened a little, and she swallowed even more.

By the time she was done, steam poured out of her ears, and her entire body felt warm and cozy.

"Ginny," her mother said in a small, hesitant voice. "Did you really forget?"

Ginny fiddled with the bottle, taking her time answering. "I did," she said. But she didn't want them to get the wrong impression, and the alcohol was making her feel relaxed, so she continued. "I mean – I don't forget all the time," she clarified. Just two nights ago, she'd had a nightmare, and had been very glad that it was one of the times when she'd stayed in Harry's rooms. Another gulp of firewhisky went down her throat. "And maybe I won't forget ever—"

"Trust me," Bill said quietly, meeting her eyes and quickly looking away. "No one expects you to forget something like that."

She bunched the sleeve of her dad's dressing gown in one fist, and supposed that Bill was right. And by the murmurs of agreement, the rest of her family thought the same way. She didn't think they'd ever forget, either. For years she'd wanted them to, but now she knew better. "But I don't have to remember all the time anymore," she said. Tears threatened. She pushed them away, thinking that if she started crying, it would make them think she was lying. Instead, she looked at her mother, who appeared to be struggling with her own emotions.

But her mum didn't cry or say anything about it, really. Just sighed a little. "You shouldn't be drinking that, dear," she said, pushing herself away from the table. "Give that back to Fred."

Ginny bristled. "I'm old enough," she said, feeling mildly outraged, but slid the bottle back to Fred, who immediately took a swig from it after eyeing it almost lovingly.

"I know how old you are. I gave birth to you," her mum reminded her tartly, opening a cupboard, and pulling a dusty old bottle off a shelf. "I just don't think you want to drink Fred's swill." She lingered a little, staring down at what she held in her hands. "And _this_ is excellent firewhisky," she said, taking a deep breath. Turning, she gave Ginny a wobbly smile, and walked over to her.

A glass was set out in front of her, and the bottle opened. Almost immediately, Ginny could tell that this was very high quality firewhisky, indeed. She could even see a hint of flames swirling around in the liquid, and she was about to protest. But as soon as she opened her mouth to tell her mother that she didn't need the obviously expensive alcohol, George snorted.

"You know, I've been trying to get that bottle open for years," he said thoughtfully, tilting back in his chair. "Remember, Fred? We even tried to break it open the Muggle way. Tried everything…"

"I know," her mum said. "I placed several charms on it to keep you two out of it."

"We couldn't even break them," Fred said. "Trust me, we tried. Some owners of a joke shop _we_ are."

"Your cunning had to come from somewhere," was her mother's smug reply.

It seemed churlish to refuse what her mother was offering her. And when she reached out her hand, possibly to stroke Ginny's hair, Ginny leaned toward it a little. But her mother drew away, and went back to her seat. Ginny blinked rapidly and sipped her drink. It really _was_ excellent.

"Thanks, Mum," she said.

Silence fell again. It hurt a little to know that they were so careful around her. Part of it was, she knew, due to Christmas. But now that she thought about it, she knew that they had no clue how to treat her. Ginny had pushed them away for so long that they just… stayed away. But the distance was far too great.

She swallowed the rest of the liquor in her glass, not bothering to sip.

"Wow," George said.

"Ginny, you're a champion drinker," Ron said earnestly.

"She _is_ a Weasley," Fred said pompously, in an admirable imitation of Percy.

And Ginny had an idea of how to bridge the gap a little, and smiled slyly. "I don't know why you two are so shocked," she said, gesturing at Fred and George. "I seem to remember having my first taste of firewhisky—"

"Ginny!" George interrupted loudly.

"—at the age of thirteen," Ginny finished, glancing at her mother. "The twins gave it to me, right after Ron and Hermione left with Harry."

"She wanted it," Fred said defensively, throwing his hands up and almost falling backward onto the floor. "Don't look at me like that, Mum… I was just trying to do the right thing."

"Besides," George added, elbowing Bill in the ribs. "Bill and Charlie gave _us_ firewhisky when _we_ were thirteen."

"Hey!" Charlie said. "What is this, confession time?"

"I knew we should've made them swear an Unbreakable Vow," Bill muttered, but he was smiling.

"How come no one gave _me_ firewhisky when _I_ was young?" Ron asked plaintively. He pointed his finger at Percy. "Don't tell me -- _you_ were the one who was supposed to," he accused. "You really dropped the cauldron on that one."

"I didn't—" Percy began stiffly.

"I had to wait until I was eighteen to get drunk!" Ron continued, much aggrieved.

"That's for the better, Ron, dear," her mother said in a soothing voice. "And Percy, thank you for not being a miscreant." But Ginny could tell that her mother was joking, and hid a smile behind her hand. The mirth wasn't completely natural, of course. Everyone kept stealing glances at her, but the tension and awkwardness was fading quickly.

"I would've given him some," Percy said, offended. "Hermione stopped me!"

Everyone turned to look at Hermione, who shrugged a shoulder. "I didn't think it was a good idea for a group of underage wizards to be drinking at the Quidditch World Cup," she said, shrugging one shoulder.

It took several minutes to calm Ron's ruffled feathers after that, especially since everyone – even Ginny, though she was still mindful of Hermione backing her up earlier – kept heckling Hermione for her adherence to the rules. All the while, they kept drinking, and the tension kept slipping out into the growing darkness. Not all of it, though. The truth about Harry stayed on the tip of her tongue, made even worse when George made a comment or two that alluded to him, though no one else appeared to notice.

And her dad's contribution to the increasingly drunken conversation was negligible. Ginny understood that she'd hurt him with her words, and also understood that one night and a lot of alcohol was not going to smooth things over. She also wasn't the only one who had difficulties. Ron kept glancing over at their father, looking unusually sober for someone who had consumed lots of firewhisky.

But Ginny relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy the moment.

"I know what's missing!" Charlie exclaimed suddenly, pointing straight at Ginny. "Your fuffy -- _puffy_, I mean – little friend!"

"That'sh right," Fred said, widening his eyes. "It'sh not a family event without Arnold!"

George took it up too. "Arnol'!" he called. "Arnol'! Where are you?"

Ginny giggled, and took the opportunity to pour more firewhisky. "He's back at the castle with his _girlfriend_," she said with relish. Then, widening her eyes, she stared at Fred and George in turn. "Did you make boy pygmy puffs go into heat on purpose?" she asked sternly. Not that he had gone into heat again (_yet_), but he was showing signs that there was about to be a repeat performance of last autumn's puff drama.

"Arnol' has a girlfriend?" Fred asked. There was an odd note in his voice.

Ginny ignored it. "Uh huh," she said. "Her name is Calliope, and she played hard to get for months," she said, chuckling. "He had to impress her with feats of strength to win her affecshuns," she nodded. She didn't mention the fact that he had used Ginny's knickers to do this, and that they'd made a little nest of them. "And – did you know that they dance with each other?"

"Oh!" Fred said. His mouth fell wide open, and shock was clearly written on his face. "You -- _oh._ Merlin, I—"

George silenced him, a bang emitting from his wand. "Now, now, Fred," he said loudly and, Ginny thought, unconvincingly. "You mustn't give away our shecretsh."

Fred struggled against the Silencing Charm, face turning even redder. It was obvious to Ginny that he'd figured out the secret, and her mind replayed everything that she'd just said. Could it be that he'd remembered Harry going and buying Calliope as a Christmas gift, and he'd put two and two together? But the fact that she and Harry were a couple seemed like an equation that needed more steps to arrive at the answer.

George dragged Fred out of the room. "Gotsh to remind Fred – he was about to reveal – can't have him letting the hag out of the bag," he stammered. "Jusht becaush you're drunk, you can't tell 'em about our top shecret pygmy puff… shecretsh," he admonished.

Everyone stared after them. Ginny tried to act nonchalant and not look at Ron and Hermione at all.

"They get weirder every time I see them," Charlie said, shaking his head.

Ginny gathered up her scattered thoughts and tried to come up with an explanation for her and Harry. She grimaced, not wanting to tell them without at least talking to Harry about it first. But as soon as Fred and George returned to the room, George gave her a nod, and Fred reached for his bottle.

Ginny could only think that he meant to keep the secret, at least for now. And even though once Fred had recovered from the shock a bit, he made several comments about professors and Defense Against the Dark Arts, he didn't come out and say anything.

Much later, Ginny's head was swimming by the time she was alone in the kitchen with Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George. "I jusht -- _just_ kep' blinking an' everyone kep' leaving," she said, staring at the ceiling. Her eyes felt heavy and her belly full. Every once in a while she hiccupped and flames erupted out of her mouth. "I'm a dragon," she giggled, grinning up at her brothers and Hermione.

"Me too," Ron said comfortably, belching fire and rubbing his stomach. "An' it hazhn't just been a bit since people left. Mum an' Dad an' Bill left, 'cause we was -- oops, we _were_ -- travelin' to lishen -- lissen -- lishenshus--"

"_Lissentusness_," Hermione corrected loftily, rocking back and forth, and eyeing her glass of wine as though she might want more. Ginny was very proud of her, and couldn't help but give her a sloppy grin. Hermione grasped the glass by the stem (after two tries), and swigged some more. "That still doezhn't sound right."

"It'sh 'licentious,'" George said.

"You would know that word," Hermione told him.

"We were being unruly," Ron announced, sounding remarkably clear. He didn't appear to have heard the discussion about pronunciation.

"_Sho_," Fred said. Somehow, he had upended his chair, and was lying flat on his back, with his bottle of firewhisky clutched in his hand. It threatened to be knocked over by a careless gesture at any moment, and Ginny stared at it unblinking, even though she knew what Fred was going to ask about. It didn't even surprise her much -- Fred was the sneakiest of the Weasleys, he was bound to have greater insight.

"Yeah?" Ginny said, feeling slightly apprehensive.

Instead, he was silent for so long that Ginny was pretty sure he'd passed out. Or at least she thought he had. But the pretty lights kept sparkling on the nearly empty bottle, distracting her. When Fred started chuckling drunkenly, it startled her so much, she had to put her foot out to keep her from falling off her chair. And then the room was spinning slightly, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut. "I'm right about you an' Harry bloody Potter," Fred said. It wasn't a question. "An' mostly I'm -- haha -- whoa, that's fucking insane--"

"Imazhin how I felt, Fred," George slurred. "Harry shows up at Ron's house, completely mental about Ginny. It was like a kick in the balls. In a good way," he added hastily when he saw the look on Ginny's face.

"Right, George," Fred said. "So... think it's insh - insane. But _then_ I think... maybe insh - insanity is a big freakin' circle, 'cause Ginny an' Harry together sort of makes sense"--he hit himself on the head several times, and winced--"in thish totally bizarre way. But it hurts my head to think about that right now... I could be crazy too..." His voice trailed off. Ginny wondered if he was done, but was too used to Harry rambling to count on it. Indeed, she was right. "Sho now I'm just thinkin' -- remember that poem you wrote during Harry's fourth year, an' ye wanted to cheer him up--"

"Nooooo," Ginny whimpered, putting her face in her hands and George and Ron started to laugh. "_Don't_ mention that," she pleaded, half-laughing.

"How'd it go again?" Ron asked. Hermione swatted him in the stomach, but Ron ignored her. And with many fits and stops, the three boys pieced together the embarrassing little poem Ginny had written for Harry during her first year and his fourth. She groaned, and put her head in her hands, though she didn't mind that much, remembering the little girl with a crush.

"--The hero who conquered the Dark Lord!" Fred finished cheerfully, struggling to sit up. He was grinning at Ginny, but his eyes were very serious. He pointed at her. "It'sh _good_," he said earnestly. "It's really, really, really, really good that you got what you wanted, Ginny. It really, really is."

A blush crept up her neck and flooded her cheeks, causing them to tingle. She fiddled with her glass and drank the rest of it. Surprisingly, though, she felt no urge to escape. The honesty with her family (and the alcohol) had loosened something inside her, and she knew it wasn't just the firewhisky that was causing a strong feeling of contentment. "Thanks," she said quietly.

"_Seriously_," Fred added. "But just let us know if he--"

"I don' think Harry's feelings are the issue," Ron interrupted, sounding almost sober. "Which reminds me," he turned to Ginny. "I think that you -- wow," he stopped himself, a look of shock sliding over his face. "This is the opposite -- I'm supposed to be protective of you -- but..." he eyed her very seriously. "Please don't hurt him."

Ginny opened her mouth--

"I mean..." Ron took a deep breath. "He doesn't have anything to prove. To me, or anyone else in the family," he told her, grimacing. "So... I've got a good guess that he's going to do anything for you. Just... make sure that you do the same."

"Of course," Ginny said immediately.

Ron looked as though he might want to argue, and Ginny guessed that he was thinking of when they had been fighting. She glanced down at the table, absolutely not wanting to bring that up, not when she was quite drunk. _Please don't push it,_ Ginny begged. _Please._

Fred chose that moment to interrupt. "I wasn't going to say that we should beat up on Harry if he doesn't treat Ginny right," he said in an injured voice. "I know Harry'll be a good boy."

"And that was completely opposite, Ron," George said cheekily. "We're supposed to be protective of our little sister, not the bloke she's dating," he added. But Ginny could tell that he felt the same way as Ron did, that Harry hurting her was a completely foreign idea, and it was more likely that she be the one to hurt him. Instead of offending her, it made her smile.

----------

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**Author's Note:**

_Several people have asked me how much longer Here Comes the Sun will be. The answer is seven chapters (and yes, this is subject to change - but I doubt it will), and will likely include an epilogue. And I would also appreciate a little leeway with the posting speed. I have a small baby, and also have had several calamities/disasters/etc. As always, reviews are appreciated. _


	28. Ain't She Sweet?

13 April 2002

Waking up was brutal.

Ginny cracked her eyes open and immediately wished she hadn't. The sun had changed from a benign presence in the sky to a cruel enemy, piercing her eyeballs, and causing her to whimper. _What the hell?_ Ginny thought blearily. Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings, but that just served to increase her confusion. She was sprawled, completely naked, on top of a lightly snoring Harry.

_When did I come back to Hogwarts?_

Braving the evil rays of the sun again, she blinked. There were no covers on the bed except a plain with sheet. Instead, she was covered in bed curtains that had been pulled halfway off. Ginny had to close her eyes again -- it felt like Cornish pixies were hammering her skull. Harry let out a sleepy murmur, and squeezed her bum lightly.

She took several shallow breaths -- her stomach kept threatening to revolt -- and lifted her head off Harry's chest. It looked as though disaster had struck the room. The bedclothes were nowhere to be seen, but the pillows were strewn about the room with abandon, as were all their clothes, leaving a trail out the door into Harry's sitting room.

Ginny squinted, lips curving in a pained wince. _Is that my bra hanging from a wall sconce?_

Ginny was too exhausted to ponder, this, however. And the Cornish pixies that had taken to hammering at her skull were now jumping up and down inside it, having entirely too much fun._Ughhhhhh._ The pain wasn't something that she'd expected.

Dim memories of the night before were starting to surface. Ginny had left soon after Ron and Hermione, and had found Harry snoozing in his office chair. And she'd brought the bottle of firewhisky with her, and they'd finished it off. "Bad idea," she whispered out loud. "Shouldn't have done that." Even hazier memories flitted through her mind after that, and if she squinted really hard she could _almost_ remember how they had gotten naked, and why all their clothes had been tossed aside with happy abandon.

She whimpered.

"Ginny?" Harry said, voice gravelly with sleep.

"Shhhh," she moaned. The sound of his voice, usually so welcome, was like encouragement to the Cornish pixies to attack her head even more exuberantly.

"Sorry," he whispered.

Ginny sat up, and lifted her hands to her head. Their bodies had been stuck together and made a funny sound when they pulled apart. And her mouth felt (and tasted) like something had crawled in there and died. An image of her attacking Harry and tugging at his clothes rose up in her mind and her stomach rolled. "I'm going to be sick," she said weakly.

Harry moved so quickly that she toppled over.

Ginny glared at him. Not that she didn't blame him, but _she_ didn't want to vomit all over herself either. "Thanks for the help," she said, voice muffled.

"I'm going to help you to the bathroom," he said, hurt. And he tugged on her arm, doing just that. Together, they hobbled over to Harry's loo. "Do you want me to -- er -- be with you?" he asked uncomfortably.

Ginny had the perverse urge to tell him yes, that she absolutely needed him to hold her hair and make sounds of encouragement as she spilled the contents of her belly into the toilet. But she knew that he'd do exactly that, and if there was one thing she absolutely did not want to do, it was vomit in front of Harry. "No, thank you," she said grudgingly.

He muttered something under his breath.

"I'll be out in a minute -- where's my wand?" she asked. Gazing around the room, she saw no evidence of either her wand or the Elder Wand. Instead, she saw Harry's broken holly wand, poking out of Arnold and Calliope's nest of knickers. Her eyes fixed on it and she barely noticed it when Harry stuck her wand in her hand. "Right, thanks," she said. And as she lurched into the loo, shut the door, and cast a Silencing Charm, she felt a pang of guilt for being short with him.

But the pain made it difficult to be nice. Thinking she had a minute at best before she could no longer control the waves of nausea that were crashing over her with growing fervor, she took down the charm. "I love you very much," she said, not even waiting for his reply before she shut him out again.

Ten minutes later, she exited the loo feeling only marginally better. "Why'd I drink so much?" she said in a small voice. Harry was sprawled on the bed, one arm flung over his eyes. He had put on a pair of trousers but hadn't yet bothered with a shirt. In fact -- Ginny looked closer -- it looked as though he'd halted mid-task, too exhausted to continue.

"I had fun," he said, slowly sitting up. He held out a small bottle to her. "It's a hangover potion," he explained. "I got it from Kreacher."

Ginny eyed it dubiously. It hardly seemed like she should accept a hangover potion from a deranged house-elf (even though Harry said he was reformed, Ginny didn't believe it fully. "Is it safe?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "But it isn't immediate -- the pain will go away bit by bit."

Ginny shrugged a shoulder, thinking that it really couldn't get worse, grabbed it out of his hand, and drained it in one gulp. Several seconds slid by with nothing happening. But slowly, her stomach felt warmer and less prone to spew its contents.

"As soon as you want, I thought we could go to Grimmauld Place," Harry said. "I thought you might want to -- there's a huge bath, I thought that would help you feel better."

It took so long to _think_. "A bath?" she said slowly.

"Yeah," he said. "You know -- large tub, hot water, maybe some bubbles..."

"I know what a bath is," Ginny told him testily, gathering up her clothes and wishing that she could magic her clothes onto her body without having to do anything. "I'm just... well, I don't really feel up to having sex right now," she added.

"I don't want to have sex!" he said hurriedly. "Well -- I would, but..." he grimaced a little, and Ginny thought that the idea of possibly being puked on had dampened his ardor. "Besides," he said in a different tone of voice. Ginny looked up at him; he was smiling quite smugly. "I'm still more than satisfied from last night."

"We had fun then, did we?" Ginny asked, pulling on her trousers. _I'm not even going to bother with knickers,_ she thought. And her bra remained draped over the wall sconce.

"I had fun twice," Harry confirmed. "And _you_ had fun several times."

Ginny allowed a small smile at the triumph in his tone. "I don't remember," she said, wishing that she could. "I mean -- bits and pieces," she added. Like pushing him up against the wall... Ginny thought they might've had sex on his couch, but couldn't be entirely sure.

"We should do this more often," Harry said. When she glared at him in disbelief, he lifted his hands up in surrender. "I don't mean. Well, we don't have to drink _too_ much. But..." his eyes were both serious and amused at the same time. "You were amazing last night. Just... totally wild."

Ginny _really_ wished she could remember. But another wave of nausea churned in her belly, and she couldn't concentrate on anything but not vomiting on the floor of Harry's room. Through a daze, she heard him suggest leaving for Grimmauld Place right away, and was she sure she could make it through the floo?

She did make it through the whirling green flames. Barely. Her stomach rebelled, and she didn't even pay attention to her surroundings, or the fact that Harry kept having to keep the invisibility cloak from sliding off of her (both of them had decided that it was probably best that no one see her walking through the corridors in her state).

"Do you want me to carry you up the stairs?" Harry asked, once they had safely arrived in the basement kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Ginny squinted and stared around her -- the room was very clean but dark, as though it was not often used. As far as she could remember, the nearest bathroom that had a bathtub was up three flights of stairs.

"Up three flights of stairs?" she asked dubiously, despite the fact that she wanted him to carry her; her conscience wouldn't let him hurt himself trying to help her.

"I'd charm you to make you really light," he said. Before she could say anything, he'd performed the charm and lifted her into his arms. It was a strange sensation, like floating.

Once inside the bathroom, he set her down and pointed his wand at the huge, tiled tub. Ginny gaped at it. It was the largest private bath she'd ever seen. How had she not known of this bathroom when she'd lived here for a summer, or when they'd stayed over Christmas? The aroma of perfumed bubbles filled the air.

"I'll be right back," Harry said. "Get ready -- I just need to tell Kreacher a few things."

Through the door to the bathroom, Ginny heard Harry's voice getting closer as he gave final instructions to Kreacher. Steam was slowly filling the room as well as the delicate perfume of the bubbles, and even in her vulnerable state, Ginny admired the gracious size of the bathtub. Wrapping the towel around her tightly, she tilted her head on her shoulder and closed her eyes, wishing that Harry would come in and that the potion would take its full effect.

"--_Yes_, just make up _one_ bed," Harry said exasperatedly, stopping just outside the door. "In the master bedroom."

Kreacher croaked something that Ginny couldn't quite hear.

"Fine. Make two beds if you want," Harry said. "But we're only going to use one. _Don't_ give me that look. You aren't my mum."

A long stream of what sounded like an indignant bullfrog was all Ginny heard.

"You aren't _her_ mum, either!" Harry called. He opened the door and stepped in, looking mutinous. His hair stuck up on all ends, and his mouth was set in mulish lines. As soon as the latch clicked shut -- and he did it gently, to Ginny's great relief -- he began to strip off the robes and trousers he'd hastily donned before they left his rooms at Hogwarts. Usually she loved to watch him undress -- the long, lean lines of his body were pleasing to her -- but now she just wished he'd hurry up so they could get in the bath.

"Sorry about that," he muttered, checking the temperature and laying his wand on the dark green tile. "Mother Kreacher was giving me a hard time."

"Someone needs to keep you in line," Ginny murmured half-heartedly.

"I have you for that," he said, giving her a lop-sided grin that made her stomach turn over; this time, in a good way. "I think you're excellent at keeping me on the straight and narrow."

"That's because I just encourage you," Ginny sighed heavily, but was able to give him a small smile before she dropped her towel. Harry stepped into the tub and sat down. Ginny followed him directly, settling herself between his legs, and sank down into the water. "Ahhhhhhhhh," she moaned as the warmth flowed over her. Whether it was the bath or the potion, she didn't know, but either way she almost immediately began to feel less like death.

Harry's arms went around her, anchoring her, and she leaned her head back to rest it against his chest. Minutes passed in a haze of lazy peace; neither of them spoke a word. But slowly, as her stomach really began to settle, she felt a little guilty for her grouchiness. "Mmm," she said. "I'm sorry for... being grumpy with you earlier."

"It's okay," he said softly, sounding totally relaxed. "Don't get mad -- but... I thought it was kind of cute."

"Cute?" Ginny asked in disbelief. She'd seen herself in the mirror. Not a pretty sight.

"Uh huh," he told her. "My favorite part was when you yelled that you love me very much. You sounded very grumpy."

Ginny paused, and then snorted. Harry lifted her off him, and then reached for a bar of soap. He lathered his hands and rubbed slow circles on her back. Little bits of memory filtered back as he stroked her back and then her arms and chest. They did much to explain why even though the rest of her body was hurting, one part of her had woken up very satisfied and happy. "So..." she said. "We had fun last night?"

"Yes, a lot," he said, kissing the back of her neck. But neither his kiss nor his hands were actively seeking to arouse her, which strangely made her happy.

They'd been on the couch, Ginny knew. Wearing most of their clothes -- this was right after she'd cajoled him into drinking a healthy amount of the firewhisky -- with only the important bits bare. She furrowed her brow. She had the feeling that they'd talked about something, but what had been said slipped through her mind before she could register it. The next thing she remembered was leaning up against the wall and Harry kneeling in front of her, using his mouth to bring her to orgasm.

"Did we have sex on the couch?" she asked.

"For about a minute," Harry said. "Can I wash your hair?" he asked. Ginny nodded, and dunked fully under the water. By the time she sat up, Harry had the shampoo bottle in his hand, and he poured a healthy measure on the top of her head. His fingers gently lathered it, and Ginny couldn't help but moan. It felt incredible, and the pounding in her skull eased even further.

"Why only a minute?" she wondered.

Harry chuckled. Ginny marveled at the fact that a chuckle could sound so smug. "You made me finish pretty much right away," he told her cheerfully, working out the knots in her hair.

"What'd I do?"

It just seemed strange to her. He generally lasted longer than that, unless it was right after he'd used his mouth on her.

"You told me something," Harry said. Ginny felt his penis stir against her bum. But before she could ask what, he continued, "You told me that you think of me when you touch yourself. And as if that wasn't brilliant enough..." his voice trailed away dreamily. And then he smoothed wet strands of hair away from her ear and whispered the rest of what she'd said directly into it.

"What?!" Ginny squeaked, jerking. Her face flushed bright red.

"Of course I couldn't help but explode after that," he told her. If it weren't for the enthusiasm of his tone and his growing erection, Ginny might've tried to escape. Instead, she scooted over to the other side, pretending that she only wanted to rinse her hair under the tap, and not because she was mortified. All of the shampoo was out of her hair before she looked at him again.

He was across the tub from her. Most of the bubbles had faded, and she stared in the direction of his lap. _He really likes that,_ Ginny thought in disbelief. "I can't believe I said that," she whispered.

"It was the most erotic thing I've ever heard," he said simply. Gesturing toward his erection, he added, "As you can see. But you can just ignore it," he added hastily.

Ginny nodded, and moved back to her original place, mind racing. She didn't think she'd actually keep her promise, especially the way he'd described it. And she couldn't believe she'd admitted that! But maybe... he'd been turned on thinking about it today, and it had made him finish quite quickly. But thinking about it made her head pulse; by the time she'd forced herself to worry about it later, his erection had disappeared.

"Ready to get out?" he asked, yawning. "I'm really sleepy again."

"All right," she agreed.

They got out of the bath and wrapped themselves in towels, even though Harry had used the Elder Wand to dry them both off. Harry poked his head out of the door, checking to make sure that Kreacher was nowhere in sight. "It's just down the hall," he said. They hurried by two doors and several portraits who gazed down at them sternly. One of them -- an old woman in a flowery nightcap, appeared scandalized.

"I'm pretty sure people have been naked together in this house," Harry said irritably. "Sirius and Regulus didn't come out of nowhere."

Ginny giggled as a portly man in another portrait gasped and dropped his quizzing glass.

"If any of you say a word about 'besmirching the house of your forefathers,' I'm going to blast some portraits off the wall," Harry added warningly. He ushered her inside an open door, and shut it on the condemning eyes of Black ancestors, who were sputtering about decency and "young people these days." Just as the woman in the nightcap muttered something about marriage, Harry drew Ginny out of earshot.

Neither one of them wasted any time in dropping their towels and crawling into bed. Ginny couldn't help a moan when she slid into the soft and warm sheets. The only sign that it was actually daytime and not nighttime was a small spill of light that wasn't covered by the heavy draperies. She sighed and scooted closer to Harry, who wrapped his arm around her waist.

"I still can't believe I forgot," Harry said suddenly. "I know we talked about this last night, but..."

"Yeah, I know," Ginny said, yawning. And they had talked about it when she'd returned to his office, to find him still there, waiting for her. Most of the rest of the bottle of firewhisky had been drunk while expressing mutual incredulity over it. She felt a pang in her stomach when she thought of her family, who surely had as bad of hangovers as she did, and probably didn't feel a strange mixture of triumph and sadness.

Squeezing his hand, she added, "Thank you. Just... thank you for, you know, helping me forget."


	29. Ain't She Sweet? Part II

14 April 2002

_This house is full of rubbish,_ Dora Lupin thought, grimacing. Molly Weasley was due to arrive through the sooty hearth at any minute, and Dora looked around, as though seeing the house through new eyes. Remus' traveling cloak was draped over a kitchen chair, next to a table that had a tea pot, and several issues of _The Daily Prophet_ on it, cluttering it up. Teddy's toy broom had been put away where the regular broom (which might've done a runner -- Dora hadn't seen it in several weeks), and she spotted two -- _no, three_ -- of his shoes.

Still, her rather large belly was directly affecting her ability to lift her arms (to use her wand, or clean the Muggle way), and she could no more muster the energy to tidy up than she could scale a mountain.

_Damn,_ she thought glumly.

As though her curse word had summoned her, emerald green fire flared in the hearth, and Molly Weasley stepped out of it.

"The house is a mess," Dora said by way of greeting.

"Hello, Dora," Molly said, sounding amused. She looked around. "This isn't that bad -- you should've seen the state of the Burrow while I was pregnant. It just seems to pile up, doesn't it?"

Dora peered at the older witch. Something was slightly different -- in a good way. Molly's shoulders seemed more relaxed, and the lines in her face appeared to have faded. It was only two days after the anniversary of when Ginny had been taken to Malfoy Manor. Usually, Molly was tense and white-lipped for at least a week. "What's going on?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Molly replied.

"Just -- er, you look... happy?" Dora stumbled over the words. In truth, it surprised her somewhat that she'd noticed. _Perhaps pregnant women have greater powers of perception,_ she thought. There was always the possibility that she'd gone completely around the bend, though.

"Hm," Molly said. "I suppose... I suppose I am," she said slowly. "It's just that we had a surprise visitor on... on, well, the anniversary--"

"Who?" Dora interrupted, already thinking that perhaps Harry had visited. If anyone needed to be in on the annual ritual of drinking on both the day that Ginny had been taken, and the day she'd returned, it was Harry. Although--

"Ginny," Molly said. There was a faint note of surprise in her voice, as though she still could not quite believe it. "Ginny came from Hogwarts."

"What? Really?" Dora said blankly. Granted, she spent little time with Ginny, but _really_? It seemed like the last thing that Ginny would do.

"Yes," Molly nodded. She bustled around the kitchen, using her wand to summon two (clean) tea cups, and set the water in the kettle to boil. Dora let her do it, though she felt mildly guilty -- Molly was her guest, after all. But Dora also understood that Molly liked to care for others, and if that meant that Dora didn't have to get up, so much the better.

"That's..." Dora began. But she didn't know exactly what that was, so she kept quiet.

"She had no idea what day it was," Molly added. "No idea at all, until she asked why we were all drinking."

This was equally surprising. Dora had known for a long time that Ginny had counted the days since she'd been rescued... and now she didn't even know the anniversary of when she'd been taken? "Huh," she said stupidly. But really, what else could she say?

"And then she stayed," said Molly. "And drank with us, and made us laugh, and _she_ was laughing. A lot. It was... it was like we'd gotten the Ginny we lost back again."

Dora could understand this well. "I didn't know Ginny very well before Malfoy Manor," Dora said quietly. "But I know that she came back a completely different person--"

"With good reason," Molly said.

"Absolutely," Dora agreed. She didn't even want to think about what had happened to Ginny; she'd only been fourteen years old, and the damage done to her body alone had been terrible.

"And I admit that I resented that she couldn't be herself," said Molly. "But only because I hated that she was still in so much pain so long after. And after Christmas... I didn't think she'd ever come out of it." Molly continued in this vein for several minutes, wrapping her fingers around the warm cup, and finally sitting down. It seemed as though she needed someone to listen to her amazement... and Dora was a willing listener. The Weasleys were not her family by blood, but all of the members of the Order of the Phoenix had become close during those frightening, tense years when Voldemort had ascended to power.

"That's really wonderful," Dora said, once Molly's words had wound down a little. But her brow furrowed in confusion. "But what brought Ginny home from Hogwarts?" she asked. "If she didn't intentionally come to see you?"

Molly snorted. "Well, I know what she _says_," Molly said. "And I almost believe her... but..."

"What was it?"

"She said that she'd been practicing a spell in the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office," Molly said. "And had accidentally banished all the stitching and buttons out of her clothes--"

"They teach those kinds of spells now?" Dora asked. "My Hogwarts boyfriend and I had to lurk in the adult section at Flourish and Blotts for those little gems."

Molly chuckled a little. "Arthur convinced Professor Kettleburn that he needed access to the Restricted Section at the Hogwarts library and -- but that's neither here nor there," Molly abruptly interrupted herself. "I know what it _looked_ like -- she came tumbling out of the floo, clutching her clothes, and wearing a man's cloak. But... would Ginny actually be having sex?" she asked uncertainly.

That was true. But if Ginny's personality had made a complete turn... frankly, it was more astounding to Dora that Ginny had shown up and drank with her family, than if she was having sex. "What would you think if it had been Fred or George?" Dora asked. "Or Ron, or any of the other boys?"

"I would tell them in no uncertain terms that they aren't to shag in professors' offices," Molly said immediately.

"But anywhere else is all right?" Dora said slyly, grinning when Molly's cheeks flushed bright red.

"I wouldn't want to be a hypocrite," Molly said tartly.

The two of them subsided into companionable silence, sipping their tea. Dora looked out the window. In order to give Dora and Molly some alone time, Remus had taken Teddy outside to "hunt for gnomes." This activity apparently required both of them to cover themselves in dirt, and laugh quite a lot. A misty feeling that Dora wasn't sure was entirely due to pregnancy hormones rose up in her, and her eyes prickled a little from it.

"I can't wait to meet that young man," Molly said, finally breaking the silence. "She was so_happy_..."

"How does Arthur feel about it?" Dora asked.

Something strange flickered across Molly's face. "Arthur hasn't... he hasn't been himself since Christmas," she said. "Of course. And hearing the truth about Malfoy Manor just made it worse. He won't talk about it, but I can tell he thinks about it all the time--"

"Does he... does he blame Harry?" Dora asked tentatively.

She expected Molly to reply with a firm negative, but the older witch said nothing.

"If he does, he won't talk about it," Molly said. "I don't think he ever would. I don't _think_ he would," Molly added, sounding quite unsure. "But Harry's another child we lost, isn't he? There isn't much of a chance that he'd come around, so we may never know exactly how Arthur feels about him, and what happened." She drifted into silence again, and Dora didn't want to push it, considering the grim look on her face. "It's just strange," Molly said finally. "Arthur came home late a last week, and he said he'd been at work--"

"You don't believe him?" Dora asked.

"Kingsley stopped by the next day and said that Arthur hadn't been in the office for two days," said Molly. "But I don't want to press him on it. I'm thinking of asking Percy for my clock back..."

Dora could sense that Molly's good mood had all but disappeared and, desperate to have it return, she changed the subject. "Do you think you'll meet Ginny's boyfriend?" she asked.

Molly gave her a grateful look and a smile. "Soon, I hope. Maybe we'll all go surprise her at her next Hogsmeade weekend," she said. "Bill and Charlie are already claiming that it's their duty to make sure he's a decent young man, and good enough for her," she added. "But they're all bluster... Fred and George want to meet him, too, although I fear they have a prank in mind. I overheard them talking about yet."

Dora grinned at that. She imagined that the twins had several pranks in mind for Ginny's unsuspecting boyfriend.

"And Percy will, I'm sure, do a thorough background check on him," Molly continued. As she spoke, Dora could practically see the worry over her husband fading off of Molly's face.

"And Ron?" she prompted.

"Hasn't said anything except he thinks that we owe him a thank you," Molly said. "Hermione's been good for him, I think," she chuckled.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

17 April 2002

All through class, Ginny hovered constantly in the periphery of his mind. Yes, he was helping seventh year students master a particularly tricky hex; yes, he was almost constantly averting disasters; and yes, he was supposed to be teaching. But it was difficult to concentrate when she kept sending enticing glances his way, fingering her wand in ways that forcibly reminded Harry of several pleasant things, and adjusting her skirt beneath her robes.

_Her skirt._

Harry really liked that she'd taken to wearing skirts.

Pretending to offer her advice, he jerked his wand and cast the _Muffliato_ charm. "You're driving me crazy," he said.

Her expression remained neutral. "My knickers are damp," she told him casually.

The next ten minutes passed with almost agonizing slowness. Harry very much wanted to banish the few slugs -- _students_, he reminded himself -- who insisted on chatting mildly before gathering up their things and heading out the door. He adjusted some of the papers and pillows, very aware that Ginny was cooing to Arnold and pretending like nothing was out of the ordinary. Once the door shut and several moments had passed, Harry cast a locking charm so strong that the knob rattled. A silencing charm swiftly followed.

An instant later, he had his arms wrapped around her, sliding her robes up, and then lifting her, grinding against her.

"Feeling a little restless today?" she asked wickedly.

"Uh huh," he muttered. But in the feverish haze, he was struck with an idea. Gripping her bum firmly, he walked them both over to her chair, where she sat every single day. "But I can wait," he added, pulling away, and grinning. He set her down, and draped one of her legs over the back.

"What are you--"

"Keep in mind," Harry said, talking over her. "Just keep in mind that I want you to think of this every time you sit in this chair."

He knelt and bent over, carefully repositioning her skirt so that her little blue knickers showed. They were, indeed, damp, Harry was pleased to note, using one finger to trace the wet spot. She shivered.

Harry didn't even take her knickers off, just pushed them to the side and pressed his mouth against her, spreading her with his fingers. His thumb stroked over her clitoris while he used his tongue to taste her and thrust into her. Gently at first, but more vigorously as the moments passed. They didn't have much time... Dimly, he was aware that it hurt a little, where her fingers now gripped him fiercely. But he didn't care, because she was moaning and writhing.

"Don't stop," she ordered.

Harry had no intention of doing so. "I won't, as long as you promise."

"_Any_thing," she groaned, rocking her hips.

"Think of me with my tongue inside you every -- time -- you -- sit -- down," he told her, mumbling against her heated flesh, using his fingers now to push inside her, while he sucked on her clitoris.

"Yes, _yes_," she hissed, pulling his head closer and arching her back. The chair rocked on its legs, threatening to topple over. But she was close.

One last thrust, and she climaxed, yelling his name.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

18 April 2002

_Dear Ginny,_

It was very wonderful to see you home so unexpectedly. If you get into any trouble at all over leaving school grounds, let me know, and I'll have a chat with Minerva. Given the circumstances, I'm sure that they will understand.

"Your mum isn't going to actually tell McGonagall the way you arrived, is she?" Harry asked, paling suddenly. He had been reading over her shoulder, and couldn't help but interject.

"I doubt it," Ginny murmured, though the idea did give her pause. They'd been very, very lucky, given how incautious they were about actually keeping things a secret. _I really should sleep up at my dorm tonight,_ Ginny thought reluctantly. It didn't help that she'd caught Method, Barnett, and Powell following her around the castle every once in a while, suspicious looks written all over their young faces. But she slept better with Harry curled around her back, and she turned her attention back to her mother's letter.

_It was really a pleasure to have you home and with us._

This line was followed by almost an inch of crossed-out lines and hatch marks from the quill. Ginny's stomach tightened. Here was yet another example of how hard her mother was trying to make things easier for Ginny. Why hadn't she noticed before? She was especially impressed because Molly had never been one to hold back...

Squinting, she tried to read what had been written and scratched out, but couldn't. She could guess, however, that her mum had been pleased to have her there, drinking with them. And everyone else -- except maybe her dad -- probably felt the same way Ginny did: that night had been the first time they'd really been a normal family again.

Harry, as though guessing the turn her thoughts had taken, dropped a kiss on her shoulder.

_I had a nice visit with Tonks today. She's looking quite healthy. The baby isn't due for a little while yet, but she's gotten fairly big. Bigger than she was with Teddy. I teased her that she might be having twins. I'd forgotten how temperamental pregnant women are about those kinds of things. As a mother of twins, I really ought to have known better._

"Dora's pretty scary," Harry admitted. "Though she's scary even when she isn't having a baby."

_While I was there, I got to thinking, about you and your Quidditch Captain--_

"You and your what?!" Harry reeled back, aghast. "What the--"

"Calm down," Ginny told him, peeling Arnold away from her shirt and handing him to Harry. She'd noticed that her pygmy puff calmed him down. "Mum thinks I'm dating Jeremy -- I told you that."

"Right," Harry said. "Right. It just really jumped out at me..."

_I got to thinking, about you and your Quidditch Captain. I'm sure he's a very nice boy, and we're all hoping to meet him soon. The reason why I mention him is that I'm just a little concerned. Humor your mother, please, and read this next bit. There are certain things about having an adult relationship that are necessary to know. And you may already know this, but if you don't. There are certain safety precautions that need to be taken before relaxing with someone you care for deeply. Contraceptive potions are very popular, but there are several charms that are more effective. If you feel any need for the potions or the charms, Madam Pomfrey, I'm sure, knows them all. And if you don't feel comfortable talking to anyone about this, I know for a fact that there are books in the Restricted Section in the library that deal with this subject._

Make sure you are eating enough -- you looked rather skinny. I'm sure you know how to get into the kitchens if you find yourself hungry. You are a Weasley, after all.

Love,  
Mum

By the time Ginny finished reading her mother's letter, her eyeballs were almost popping out of her head. She kept rereading the sentences describing contraceptive measures... it was like watching a broom accident over and over again. She couldn't stop herself. _Contraceptives. Babies. Babies!_

Harry had frozen behind her. "Shit," he breathed, sounding shocked.

Ginny turned and stared at him; his green eyes were wide, and his mouth gaped open.

"How could I have forgotten that sex equals babies?" he asked blankly.


	30. Help!

18 April 2002

Harry had never felt like more of a complete moron than he did at that moment. _How could I have been so stupid?_ A thousand thoughts crossed through his mind as he considered the fact that they had had sex -- often -- and had not once taken precautions against having a baby.

_Baby._

It wasn't entirely a bad thing. Not necessarily. But it was too soon... their relationship was too unknown for it to be a joyful occasion. Harry groaned and sat back on his couch, mind whirling. And he knew, he _knew_ that babies could result from having sex. But it was just another on a long list of the things that came along with it. Ginny's eyes were wide as she stared into his, and Harry knew that she hadn't considered it either.

"Are... do you think you're pregnant?" Harry asked; his voice sounded distant even to his own ears.

"I have no idea," Ginny answered immediately.

Harry didn't blame her. Until now, until this moment, he hadn't really even thought about it as an actual worry. There were so many other things involved with sex between them that it seemed almost strange that yet another complication had been added to it.

"Well..." he said, feeling that he had to say something, but not having any idea what to say. "Well, I think--"

"I think we should find out," Ginny said strongly. She had fisted her mother's letter in her grasp. It crinkled. "As soon as possible," she added. She turned away from him, and looked out the window. Harry grimaced, but almost immediately hoped that she hadn't seen it. "I know there are charms... I don't know quite what they are, but..."

"Right," said Harry. His gaze drifted to her belly and he wondered if she, even now, carried his child. It seemed impossible, unreal, as though it could not possibly happen to the two of them. _I should have been more careful,_ he groaned inwardly. He wasn't a complete moron; he knew how babies came about. But in the wonder and joy of discovering intimacy with the woman he loved -- with _Ginny_, who had suffered from enough abuse to make any such intimacies almost miraculous -- he had forgotten the fact that sex often had consequences.

"Are we panicking?" Ginny asked softly.

"No," Harry said firmly. With more confidence than he felt, he gripped her hands in his and looked into her eyes. A baby would be unimaginably complicated, he privately thought. In the few, indulgent moments that he allowed himself, he thought of the reaction from the Weasleys. He was not simply a stupid young man, impregnating their daughter. There was the history along with everyone else. The fact that he was partially to blame for Ginny's abduction... the fact that he hadn't even offered an explanation... The old issues loomed above him, strengthened and multiplied by the fact that not only was he hoping for absolution for his past wrongs, but--

"Harry," Ginny said, cutting through his thoughts. Her words were stern and unyielding. "I know what you're thinking--"

"It isn't unreasonable," Harry bristled. "I've been stupid--"

"So have I," said Ginny.

Harry eyed her. She was far more composed than he would have thought. There was panic in her bright brown eyes, but even that was receding. This served to calm him as nothing else could. "I think we should just... find out if you -- if we're having a baby," said Harry. "As soon as possible."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

18 April 2002

Ginny forced herself not to blush as she handed the note to Madam Pince. Harry had hastily scribbled his permission for her to enter the Restricted Section on a scrap of parchment, and Ginny had marched down here, despite the nerves and confusion fluttering through her belly. The beady-eyed librarian scrutinized her, a scowl perched on her pursed lips.

"You're not allowed to take anything out of there," Madam Pince said unnecessarily, after she had stared down at Harry's signature for what felt like several years.

"Yes, ma'am," said Ginny. Her fingers convulsed around Arnold -- who had come with her at Harry's insistence ("I'd rather it be me that goes with you," he'd said earnestly.) -- and he let out a surprised little squeak. "Sorry, Arnold," she muttered under her breath. Her hip bumped against one of the study tables and she winced.

She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, not wanting to catch anyone's gaze, hoping that no one would notice where she was going: to the Restricted Section, looking for a charm that could tell her if she was pregnant or not.

_Pregnant._

The word echoed so often in her head that it almost felt like it was being said out loud, right next to her ear. _Don't panic,_ thought Ginny. But... in all honesty, she wasn't exactly panicking. As she'd walked from Harry's rooms to the library, a thousand different scenarios had flashed through her mind. And they all led back to the idea that perhaps she and Harry had created a life together.

That wouldn't be a bad thing.

The problem was that her parents and brothers -- most of whom did not even know that Harry and Ginny had spoken to each other in years, let alone had fallen in love -- would almost certainly not understand. Her stomach fluttered again, and the idea of telling her mum and dad made her cringe.

"I don't even know if it's happened, Arnold," Ginny whispered, looking around to see if anyone was watching her. The library wasn't full, but it wasn't empty, either. What if someone noticed what section she was going into? Arnold clambered up her arm, little claws digging into the sleeve of her robes. "It could just be... you know."

Thoughts of Harry, a possible baby, and how she would explain things to her family receded. She wove through the gaps between the tables, refusing to look at anything other than the far wall, knowing that the other students were glancing up at her. The weight of those stares made her skin crawl.

"Hey, Ginny," said Demelza merrily from a few tables away.

Thankfully, the library was just loud enough that Ginny could pretend she hadn't heard her. Her cheeks stung, and she knew she was blushing. _I wish I'd brought the invisibility cloak,_ she thought. Almost immediately, though, she scolded herself for being so paranoid.

_No one cares what you're doing,_ she told herself firmly.

She hastily entered the Restricted Section, and then slowed her movements, just in case. It felt just a little exposed here, and she wiped her sweaty palms on her robes. Randomly pulling a book off the shelf, feeling more flustered by the second, she peered at it. _People will just think you're browsing,_ she told herself. "This looks interesting, doesn't it?" she asked Arnold.

After several moments had passed, she wandered over to the section that had garnered the most attention, giggles, and whispers from the girls' dormitories. Eyeing the titles of the books on the shelves, she noted that none of them appeared to be anywhere near as naughty as the book Harry had bought from Flourish and Blotts. Not that they should; Harry's book was more of a how-to than anything. These were more serious.

Ginny skimmed over several titles: _Fertility Charms and Conception Rituals_, and_Beltaine Fires: Fact or Fiction?_ were both hefty tomes that were dusty and did not appear to be particularly useful. _Gilderoy Lockhart's Prancing into Pregnancy: A Witch's Guide to Conception, Pregnancy, and Birth_ looked slightly promising -- it was just too bad that Lockhart was a complete moron. She reached out and almost grabbed _Charms for Motherhood: A Practical Guide_, but footsteps coming from the next aisle over made her freeze, and continue looking for something less obvious.

Just in case.

Ginny looked over her shoulder, and pulled out a slim volume called _Charms for Witches_, hoping that it would have what she needed. Retreating a few steps, she disentangled Arnold from her hair, and flipped it open. Finding the table of contents, she let out a relieved sigh when she found an entire chapter on how to find out if she was expecting.

There were several different methods, apparently, ranging from the bizarre (performing a charm and then dancing naked in the light of the full moon -- not something Ginny was about to do), to the promising. A likely method was a potion... although that took a month to prepare, and Ginny wanted to know _now._

_That's the best bet,_ Ginny thought to herself when she saw a charm. It was complex; squinting at the diagram that showed the complicated wand motion, she turned the book over sideways--

"Interesting reading."

Ginny dropped the book, startled, and looked up into the most unwelcome sight: Pollux Sennet leaned up against a bookshelf. As she watched, he took a few steps closer to her; the sneer on his face made her stomach cramp.

_Head up,_ she reminded herself. "I don't think that's any concern of yours," she said coldly, wanting to run away, but not wanting to give him that satisfaction. Keeping her eyes on him, she did not bend over to pick up the book, but summoned it to her hand.

She kept her wand drawn, and felt a flare of triumph when he cast a fleeting, nervous look at it. Minutes before, she'd felt like everyone could see her, and that the Restricted Section was much too open and public. Now, the shelves seemed to close in on her... and she and Pollux were much too alone...

"Oh, I'm not _concerned_," said Sennet, licking his fleshy lips. "_Interested,_ more like it."

Fear licked over her entire body, and she tightened her grasp on her wand.

His smile broadened.

Ginny's feet were rooted to the spot. The air closed in around her, making it slightly more difficult to breathe, and her confidence was swiftly draining away.

"You want it," he told her.

"No, I--"

He didn't let her finish. "You're _panting_ for it, just like you were a few years ago, right?"

"You're the last person on earth that I'd want," Ginny said firmly, taking deep breaths, and backing away. Her heart galloped in her chest, threatening to burst out of it. She knew what would happen if she turned around -- he'd stun her, or grab her. And if she used her wand to attack him here, with everyone around, it would--

"Liar," he said, winking at her. "But that's all right, I know how to play this game," he told her. The hand not holding his wand moved to the front of his trousers, and stayed there. Ginny kept her eyes determinedly on his face, waiting for him to make a sudden movement, to attack her, but she knew very well what he was doing. His entire arm moved back and forth.

"I'm not lying," she said, taking another step back, even as he moved forward.

_Don't think about what he's doing._

He moaned a little, and Ginny felt a wave of revulsion that overpowered the fear. Against her will, her gaze flickered down; his hand was inside his trousers. Her stomach cramped, but she forced herself to try to gather her thoughts. But as soon as she looked back at his face, and saw the ugly, lecherous expression clearly written across his features--

"You're going to love the way I fuck you," he grunted.

Red tinted her vision, and Ginny stopped retreating. She gripped her wand so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Thunder roared in her ears. The fear that had risen so quickly was sliding away; she no longer cared that they were in the library, that they were in a public place, and she was about to--

"Will you scream for me, like you did for--"

But Sennet did not finish his sentence.

"What are you _doing?!_" Madam Pince said shrilly.

Sennet jerked almost violently, pulling his hand out of his trousers, and nearly fell against the bookshelves. The curse that Ginny had come so close to casting still lingered on her tongue, and so great was her fury that she almost said it anyway--

"You three second years are _not_ allowed to be in here," Madam Pince harangued. "You're lucky I don't hand you over to Mr. Filch for punishment."

Sennet had already disappeared behind the towering bookshelves by the time Ginny was truly aware that Madam Pince was not yelling at them, but at three unsuspecting second-years who had wandered into the Restricted Section. Slowly, she lowered her wand, practically aching to rewind time, and curse him when she'd had the chance. Her limbs trembled.

Arnold squeaked loudly, causing her to jump.

"I'm all right," she told him. "I'm all right."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

18 April 2002

Harry had been quite happy that Ginny wasn't pregnant; therefore he was quite surprised at her continued pensive mood, and when she suggested going for a fly, he eagerly grabbed at it. But as soon as they hopped onto their brooms, it was all Harry could do to keep up with her. She was chasing the wind, it seemed, and he was almost not up to the task.

_Almost._

Once she had slowed down a little, and Harry no longer had to lean forward in order to stay with her, he caught up to her and they flew side by side. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. Whatever had been bothering her had been left behind her, the wind carrying it away.

"Ready to go in?" Harry shouted over the wind.

She gave him a look and suddenly -- without warning -- went into a steep dive, straight down, toward the deserted lakeshore. Harry sighed. It was a little cold, and he was slightly hungry... hopefully she would be ready to go inside soon. The sun had already gone down over the mountains, and night was swiftly approaching. He hung in the air for a moment, and then followed her.

_She's landed,_ he thought, surprised, when he saw the tip of her wand light up. The waves lapped gently on the shore, and Harry's feet met the soft ground. "Hi," he said uncertainly. He couldn't see her face in the gathering twilight, and it made him slightly uneasy. The fact that Ginny wasn't pregnant was a good thing, wasn't it?

"Hi," she said softly.

"_Lumos,_" said Harry. The Elder Wand lit up; to his relief, she was smiling. It also gave him a chance to take in his surroundings, and to figure out exactly where they were--

"Do you know where we are?" she asked.

"Second kiss," he said immediately. It was hard to forget something like that, and the memory made him relax. He glanced back over the lake, unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face. "Wasn't it nice that we weren't interrupted? I thought that Hogwarts had a charm or something designed to keep professors away from students."

"What would you have done if that was true?"

Harry considered this, weighing the different options. "Probably taken you to Grimmauld Place a lot," he finally decided. "Can't get away with much at Hogsmeade, can we? And maybe the Room of Requirement would have--" But instead of finishing his sentence, he let out an undignified squeak.

Ginny had banished his trousers.

And then, before he could properly react, she'd stepped forward and cupped him through the thin fabric of his boxers. He was too stunned to do anything but stare at the top of her head. "Ginny?" he said.

"Shhh," she said, stroking his shaft lightly with her thumb, and then used her other hand to play with his sac.

Harry swallowed hard, glancing around in a cursory manner. No one was there; he had not expected anyone to be. Ginny wouldn't strip him in front of people...

When a hand crept around to hold his bum, he focused all of his attention on what Ginny was doing. Instead of reaching inside of his boxers and pulling him out, she continued to rub him from the outside, using her nails. Chills traveled up and down his spine, and his breath hitched. He hardened slowly under her ministrations, penis twitching against his leg as she constantly changed the way she touched him: slowly with her nails on the head, harder with her palm along his shaft, and gently with her fingertips on his sac.

It swiftly became maddening.

Twice, he reached for her, and twice, she shook her head, apparently content to stand fully clothed in front of him. Now both of her hands were on his penis. "That feels wonderful, Ginny," he murmured. Though he was content to let her have her way with his body (for now), he couldn't help but thread his fingers through her long, sweet-smelling hair.

For just a moment, she leaned into his touch. But then she reached up and gripped his hand with both of hers. After pressing a kiss on his palm, she brought his hand down between their bodies, and placed it over the bulge in his boxers.

"Er," said Harry.

He didn't move his hand away, but he was a little confused. Especially when she made him caress himself, slowly and slightly clumsily. "Do you -- is this -- do you want me to, um, masturbate? Right now?" he asked, flushing. While the image of Ginny masturbating played a key part in several of his favorite fantasies, this was very different.

The idea of a witch doing it was erotic. A bloke on the other hand... that was just a bloke going about his business.

"Well... yes," she said firmly.

Harry sighed. His erection had softened in his confusion and slight embarrassment; it took a while to bring it back up, and even then, it wasn't as hard as it had been for her. He watched her face; she stared, apparently fascinated, at the way the front of his boxers twitched and grew tight.

"Doesn't it usually go up right away?" Ginny asked curiously.

He thought about this. Yes, it usually did. But he didn't always attempt this outside in the cold, when he was hungry and Ginny was next to him, but apparently not wanting to get naked with him at all. "Most of the time, yeah," he said. "I'm kind of cold," he admitted. It was true - his legs slowly starting to freeze from the chill wind off the lake. Shifting from foot to foot, he glanced down at himself: the half-hearted erection was certainly not the most impressive thing he'd ever seen.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked suddenly.

"Oh -- er... nothing," Harry said honestly. The usual thoughts and fantasy that made quite the crowd in his head during moments like these were conspicuously absent. _Odd, that. I wonder if--_

"--can't do that. I always have to be thinking about something," Ginny was saying, bringing his full attention back to her. Did she mean that she -- in general -- couldn't _not_be thinking about something? Or was she talking about masturbatory fantasies? His penis twitched, showing more interest in her words than his hand.

With considerably more enthusiasm, he ran his thumb over the head. "Yeah? And what do you think about?"

Her cheeks were stained bright red, and Harry grinned. Ginny didn't notice; she wasn't looking at his face. "Well... I... thought about the desk in your office last time," she said. "And"--she gestured toward his lower body--"I've thought about... this."

Harry watched her closely as he dipped his hand into his boxers, adjusting himself so that he pointed straight up, easier to grip. She took a deep breath and blew it out through her nose. Harry realized, dimly, that it did not feel quite so cold anymore. _What did Ginny just ask me?_ "I think about you doing this," he told her. "Remember, the way you_promised?_" he teased.

"I didn't promise!" she denied, eyes flying up to his face. "All I did was _tell_ you--"

"And then told me that I might like to watch, because you--"

"I know what I said," she interrupted him.

"I absolutely want to watch," Harry told her smugly. "Especially if you do it the way you described, and--"

"I was drunk!" Ginny said loudly, but her eyes were sparkling, and Harry knew that she wasn't really angry. Fisting his hand around his penis, he began stroking in earnest, groaning a little at the way she watched, and licked her lips. _I'll convince her to do it,_ he promised himself. When he closed his eyes, he could picture it vividly in his mind: Ginny on her--

"But what else do you think about?" she persisted, cutting into his fantasy.

Harry racked his brains, letting his hand fall still. "It's a lot of different impressions, mostly," he told her. "Like when I'm thinking about kissing you there"--he neglected to tell her that this was usually accompanied by a particularly erotic fantasy of _her_ using her mouth on _him_--"I think about how you taste, and your scent. It's my favorite part when you get really, really wet right before you finish," he added, thrusting into his own hand at the thought. Also, he loved the way she squeezed his head with her thighs.

He groaned at the thought.

"Don't you think about sex at all?"

"All the time," he assured her. To his surprise, he thought that she might be aroused -- not as aroused as he was, but... acting on a theory, reached out and hooked his fingers in her trousers, and pulled her closer. "I think about you coming apart in my arms," he told her. Cautiously, he rubbed her hip even as he stroked himself. "The sounds you make, and the way it feels when you finish with me inside you -- I can feel that, and it usually sends me right over the edge."

When Ginny leaned into his shoulder, he moved his hand inside her knickers, groaning when he found them damp. The tip of his middle finger found her clitoris and she moaned, but his range of motion was severely limited by her knickers and trousers. He used his other hand to undo her trousers and pulled them -- and her knickers -- down to the middle of her thighs.

Unable to help himself, he leaned over her shoulder and stole a look at her bum. It was peeking out from beneath her shirt, and looked as cute as it always did.

"I want to be on top," said Ginny.

Harry shuddered. He loved it when she was on top. "That's another one of my favorites," he told her dreamily, thrusting into his fist. Watching her ride him was extremely erotic--

Ginny batted his hand away. "We should save that," she told him, grinning impishly. And then, to his great delight, she conjured a rather thin looking blanket (but Harry wasn't complaining) and pushed him over.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

27 April 2002

Ginny shivered as she walked across the dark grounds, but not from the cold. A year ago, even the thought of being on the Hogwarts grounds at night would have given her a week of nightmares. Every shadowy tree would have hidden a Death Eater, the wind through the branches sounding like Nagini sliding across the stone floor, the dark patches of night too much like her windowless cell.

But now, safe in the crook of Harry's arm, Ginny relished the dark. Much less chance of someone catching sight of the DADA professor walking _much too closely_ to one of his students, in the dark. The trees would hide the sight of him suddenly leaning down to brush his lips against her hair, or moving her in front of him so that his kisses could trail down her neck. These stolen kisses, grabbed in plain sight of the brightly lit castle behind them, were the source of Ginny's shivers. Part of her wanted to walk more quickly, to get to one of the darker parts of the lawn so that Harry could get properly carried away, the way he was threatening to.

The other part of her just wanted to stop where she was and snog him senseless, no matter who might see.

She skipped a little, grinning to herself. It still made her giddy, the idea of kissing her_professor_, rubbing her hand over the penis of her _professor_, laying in bed and making love with her _professor_, groaning as he brought her to orgasm with his mouth. Because, of course, at the same time, he was just Harry. And the thought of him as a professor at all, of trying to command respect from a bunch of suspicious and overeager 11 and 12 year-olds, was still rather ridiculous. She snorted involuntarily, remembering his face when he'd confessed Confunding his entire class of Second Years last week so that they'd stop asking him questions about whether he'd ever used his Invisibility Cloak to sneak around the castle at night when he was a student.

"What?" Harry looked up from the wet kisses he was planting on her collarbone. "Did that tickle? Cause if so, I'll do it again." He bent his head back down and licked her neck with his tongue. She squirmed. "Harry, now it feels more like Arnold, when he falls asleep on my pillow and drools."

"Not for long, it won't," he mumbled against her neck, returning to the soft kisses and warm breaths he'd been giving her earlier.

"Harry," she said a little breathlessly, "weren't we going to see Hagrid? You said yourself, he needed to talk to us about something."

"Which is why I'm not exactly in a hurry to get there," said Harry, nevertheless straightening up and taking her hand. With the other, he gently pulled her cloak back into place so that it hung properly over her shirt, and then gave himself an adjusting tug about his waist. "Whenever Hagrid has something _important_ to talk about, I end up on the roof of the Astronomy Tower with an illegal dragon or traipsing through the Forbidden Forest to meet his giant half-brother. He sighed. "This won't be good."

Ginny swatted him lightly on the front. "Don't tell me that Hogwarts' own Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor is afraid of an itty bitty magical creature?"

In response, Harry scooped her up into his arms and strode purposefully towards Hagrid's hut.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. And knowing Hagrid, which I do, there isn't going to be anything 'itty bitty' about whatever he's got in there. But, since it doesn't seem to bother you, I'll just drop you on his doorstep and let you deal with the mess. If you need me, I'll be back in my rooms, relaxing with a nice glass of Firewhisky."

"Better add wanking to that little fantasy too," retorted Ginny cheekily, raising her eyebrows. In response, Harry grinned and dropped her lightly back onto her feet so he could knock on Hagrid's door.

But even though Harry pounded several times, there was no answer.

"That's odd," he said, now looking through one of the dark windows. "He's definitely not in there. Fang's gone too."

"Maybe he forgot," said Ginny.

"Maybe," said Harry doubtfully. "But he really sounded like he needed us, earlier." He pushed on the door, and it swung silently open. "I think we should wait here for a little while." He extended his arm towards the open door. "After you?"

"Breaking into other people's homes now, are you?" Ginny smirked, but walked inside anyway.

"I'm the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, remember?" Harry said, following her and shutting the door behind him. "And, by looking at this hut, I can say without question that it's definitely dark in here. I think this is actually part of my job."

Even though she knew he couldn't see her face, Ginny rolled her eyes. "Nice try, Potter. Lumos."

The light from her wand flickered, casting eerie shadows around the room. Harry came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist as he looked around. "Nothing seems out of place," he said. "At least, for Hagrid.

Ginny had been in the giant's hut enough in the past months to know that the chains and ropes and crossbows hanging from the walls and ceiling were perfectly normal here, as were the large, lidded baskets shuddering slightly in one corner of the room and the open tub of dead rats and chickens by the fire. Pretty much anything odd was "normal" when it came to Hagrid.

"So what do we do? Just wait?"

Harry moved over to rummage on the shelf that served as most of Hagrid's kitchen. He pulled out two glasses and a half-full bottle of the mead they usually drank when they visited. "Wait," he agreed. "And drink. Just stay away from the rock cakes." He raised his wand and lit a fire in the hearth before pouring Ginny a healthy measure of mead.

Harry took a deep drink himself and flopped backwards on Hagrid's enormous bed, piled high with quilts and blankets and what looked like a number of animal skins.

"Making yourself comfortable there, Harry?"

Harry just smiled through his closed eyes. "Mmmhmmm. It's been a long week. Those Second Years, you know? And the Third Years weren't much better."

Ginny walked over to the bed and crawled up beside Harry. "But the Seventh Years, on the other hand . . ." she said, moving so that she lay almost directly on top of him, ". . . the Seventh Years are bloody fantastic." She rolled her hips and felt him quiver beneath her as she lowered her lips to his neck and gave him the lightest of kisses.

"Only one Seventh Year," Harry mumbled, involuntarily moving his own hips against hers before opening his eyes and looking at her with amusement. "Here? Hagrid could come back at any time."

Ginny shrugged. "He's loud enough. We'll hear him first." She rolled against him again and Harry groaned, wrapping his arms tightly around her back pushing up against her. She took that as agreement and dropped her head back to his neck, trailing kisses into the crease of his collarbone.

Harry took her face in both of his hands then and began kissing her back in earnest, nibbling on her bottom lip until she opened her mouth and then slipping his tongue inside for a long, slow kiss. Ginny ran her hands across Harry's shoulders and opened her legs until she straddled him, never breaking the kiss. She continued to move herself gently up and down over Harry's erection, but didn't try to go any further. With all the excitement of their recent sexual exploration, it had been a long time since they'd just . . . snogged, and Ginny was enjoying remembering how lovely a kisser Harry was.

He'd closed his eyes again and his tongue darted around, tangling with hers, before moving across her jaw and up to her ear. She shivered as his hands trailed up and down her back, under her shirt, and then back, to graze her shoulders.

"Mmmm," he sighed contentedly, running his hands down to cup her bum. He pushed her into him more firmly and Ginny obliged by wiggling back, watching his mouth fall open as he breathed out heavily.

She wiggled again as he tickled her, running his hands up and down her sides and across her back until she was almost writhing above him.

"Oh Merlin, that's so good . . . Ginny, don't stop," he panted, moving his hands faster about her shoulders and pressing her bum even more firmly into him.

Harry was enjoying himself fully, that was obvious, but something felt . . . unnatural . . . to Ginny. She usually didn't mind when he tickled her – it was enjoyable foreplay sometimes, but he wasn't stopping this time, even though she could tell by the way he clasped her bum even more tightly and thrust against her hips that he was starting to lose control. By this point, her shirt should be coming off, at least, but Harry just kept moving his fingers lightly around her body, even tangling up in hair at one point.

Ginny screamed.

Because it suddenly occurred to her that if Harry's hands were still firmly on her bum, they could not, in any way, shape or form, be dancing all over her back, tickling her with lightly tapping pressure that felt kind of like . . .

"Feet!!!!!" Ginny screamed again and scrambled off of Harry so quickly she almost planted her knee directly into his groin.

"Huh? Wha??" Harry looked at her with confusion. His eyes were unfocused and his hair more tousled than usual. "Feet?"

"Feet," said Ginny, her eyes darting rapidly around the room. "On. Me. Feet." She caught sight of movement out of the corner of her eye. "There!" She pointed to the corner of the bed.

Harry looked over and yelped, jumping up to stand next to Ginny. "What the hell is that?"

"That" appeared to be some sort of . . . rodent, Ginny supposed. It was long like a ferret, but fatter, with a pointed snout, long whiskers, and at least ten legs on either side of its body. She shivered, looking at its little clawed feet and realizing that was what she'd been feeling running up and down her back. Harry took a step forward towards it, and it leapt towards him hissing.

"Bloody hell!" he cried, jumping back.

Ginny giggled. Suddenly, now that the thing was off of her, it seemed kind of funny. She snorted. "I thought it was you!" She tried to catch her breath, but the memory of Harry underneath her, moaning with pleasure, was too much. "And you . . ." she gasped, "you . . . thought I was just . . . getting carried away! And it turned you on!" She exploded then, falling into one of Hagrid's oversized chairs, tears streaming out of her eyes.

Harry looked sulkily at her. "Of course it turned me on," he said. "You felt wonderful up there. Moving around. On me," he said pointedly. "And now, you aren't there anymore." He looked back at the bed and raised his eyes hopefully. "It doesn't look particularly dangerous, does it?"

"Harry Potter! You were the one who said not to trust any of Hagrid's creatures! And now you want to lay down and continue our snog in sight of . . . of . . . whatever that is?"

Harry suddenly grabbed something behind her and whirled around towards Hagrid's bed. There was a squeal, then a whimpering cry, and Ginny saw a large basket, upside-down on the bed, where the creature had been moments before. Harry grabbed a teakettle and put it on top of the basket, which had been threatening to walk right off the edge of the bed, and it was still.

"There," he said in a satisfied voice. "Now it's no longer in our sight." He looked so hopefully at Ginny that she couldn't help but give in.

"Oh, all right," she agreed. "But you get to be on top, this time."

Harry grinned and hopped back up on the bed, pulling Ginny with him. She lay back and closed her eyes as Harry's began planting wet, open-mouthed kisses along her neck. He moved so that his full weight was on top of her and she could feel his erection, as firm as it had been before they were interrupted.

"Well I can see that having to fight off a twenty-legged beast didn't distract you too much," she smirked.

Harry was already preoccupied, pushing himself more insistently into her and slipping his hand under her shirt. "Uh uh," he mumbled.

Ginny relaxed and let Harry and his needs take over. He'd unbuttoned her shirt in rapid fashion and was now exclaiming to himself over the fact that she was not wearing a bra. He looked up at her from his position between her breasts. "It's much nicer this way,"

Ginny swatted lightly at his head. "Don't get used to it. I just couldn't find it earlier. After we, well . . . you know."

Ginny forgot that they were in Hagrid's hut, more than likely to get caught, or at least attacked by a strange beast - she felt too good. Harry was humming as he licked and sucked and she knew that he was enjoying herself almost as much as she was. His tongue pushed hard into her center as his thumb stroked across the top of her clitoris, and Ginny cried out, her climax crashing over her out of nowhere.

Harry chuckled as he scooted back up to wrap his arms around her, his bright eyes glittering with glee. "Seems that foreplay from a twenty-legged beast is something of a turn-on for you, too." He gave her a cheeky grin. "Or is it just my fabulous technique?" He began kissing her again before she could answer, moving himself up and down over her as Ginny reached down between them and fumbled with his belt.

"Oh," she said a moment later. "I guess we need to find your boxers too."

Harry was moving inside her, his hips jerking erratically against hers, when they first heard Fang barking in the distance. But getting closer. Harry's eyes opened wide and he started to pull out, but Ginny grabbed his arse and pushed against her even more firmly, rocking up to meet him and squeezing around him.

"Get there first," she whispered, tilting her head to kiss the most sensitive spot along his jaw. She watched as Harry closed his eyes in concentration and moved even faster, panting tiny huffs of effort as he pumped.

They could just hear Hagrid calling to Fang from disconcertingly close by when Harry groaned with his climax. He collapsed on top of Ginny for the briefest of seconds and then rolled off, fumbling with his pants with one hand as he waved his wand to cast cleansing charms with the other. He was obviously nervous; Ginny giggled as Hagrid's pots began straightening themselves on their shelves and loose strands of unicorn hair arranged itself into a neat skein, and she reached up and grabbed Harry's arm to stop its waving around.

"Umm, I'm sure Hagid will appreciate your cleaning his house, Harry, but right now I think you need to concentrate on the mess you made on me." She gestured down below her waist. "Especially seeing as I don't have any knickers, you know?"

Harry blushed and pointed his wand at her, mumbling the correct charm. Ginny had just managed to pull up her trousers but was still sitting, quite tousled, on Hagid's equally unkempt bed, when he came bursting through the door, cradling another one of the many legged rodents in his arms.

"Lucy!" he called out to the room. "I've found yer brother, safe and sound. He was trying to climb a tree, silly boy. As if he's old enough fer that yet." He looked up, noticing for the first time he had company.

"Hullo Harry, Ginny, you haven't by any chance seen another Roo around here, have yeh?" he asked.

Ginny didn't think Hagrid was a particularly good actor, but she couldn't believe he didn't realize that she and Harry had just finished having sex on his bed. She was still on the bed, for Merlin's sake. And, whoops, her trousers were still undone. She closed them and blushed, waiting for him to make a comment, but Hagrid seemed remarkably non-plussed to find the two them there in their disheveled state. He looked around the room again. "Lucy?" he called.

"Errr, who's Lucy?" asked Harry.

"Me other Roo," said Hagrid, holding up the rodent in his arms. "It's a rodent of unusual size – Rous – see? This one is Simon, and he got away from me, the little bugger. His sister is Lucy. 'Ave you seen 'er?"

"Umm, yeah, we have," said Harry. He waved his wand and the basket on the bed flew up and off 'Lucy'. She squealed and leapt off the bed towards Hagrid.

"Now why d'you have 'er under a basket like that? She couldn't hurt a flea," Hagrid admonished them, reaching down to gather Lucy into his arms and nuzzling her.

Ginny winced as Lucy opened her mouth to nip at Hagrid, displaying quite a number of sharp-looking teeth.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

28 April 2002

Ginny was particularly annoyed with Professor Slughorn on Friday. In a fit of pre-NEWT anxiety, he had forced them to make a nastily difficult potion.

"You'll have to stay after, Miss Weasley," Slughorn said implacably, after looking at her rather pathetic effort and shaking his large head.

_He looks like a walrus,_ Ginny thought mutinously. Arnold moaned in her ear, as though he understood that he would not be able to see Calliope for an extra hour or so. "I'm sorry, Arnold," she said softly, cuddling him to her ear. "It's my fault," she added glumly. Classes had certainly not taken precedence in her mind all this term, and her failure at potions today should not have come as a surprise.

"Do you want me to just make a new one?" Ginny asked the professor, who had sat down behind the desk, and started to either grade papers, or write letters to his legion of former Slug Club members.

"You must," said Slughorn. "I'm afraid you missed an important step -- let's see if you can find it," he added. His voice was kind, but Ginny couldn't help but feel another surge of resentment.

It was the last class of the day on Friday, and she'd been looking forward to an entire weekend with Harry, doing whatever they wanted to do. Biting back a grin at the fact that yesterday in Hagrid's hut had proven that they pretty much did what they wanted wherever they were. _You could've gotten caught!_ she scolded herself. But it was half-hearted.

"Yes, what can I do for you?" Professor Slughorn asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Ginny started, almost tipping over her cauldron.

But Slughorn was not speaking to her; instead, his attention was focused on three second year students. Ginny recognized Stuart Method, Aisling Powell, and Elizabeth Barnett, and they looked at her curiously, as though wondering why she was working on a potion after the end of the school day. Grimacing, Ginny bent back over her work.

"Erm -- we had a few questions--" said Method.

Ginny squinted at the instructions, not even remembering where the hell she had gone wrong with the first potion. It could have been any number of reasons, to be honest. She hadn't exactly been very mindful of it the first time. _Stir in shrivelfig counterclockwise,_Ginny said to herself. Bored, Arnold wandered around the table. Through a haze of concentration -- the sooner and more perfectly she got this done, the sooner she would get to Harry -- she watched the little trio of Gryffindors leave.

"Miss Weasley? Miss Weasley!" Professor Slughorn knocked on her table after long minutes of almost feverish attention to the potion. "I've got to run up and talk to Minerva -- Professor McGonagall," he added importantly, as though Ginny had no clue what her Head of House's first name was. "I've got a student who is supposed to be making up his own potion... will you let him know -- when he arrives -- that I'll be back?"

"Of course, Professor," Ginny murmured. Her tired eyes lingered for a while on him -- she had to admit to wondering if there was a way to cheat, if he'd somehow left behind a cauldron full of the perfect potion, and all she had to do was pour it into her own...

"You three are still here?" Slughorn asked as he left.

"We're -- er--" but the door closed on Method's answer, and Ginny turned her attention back on her task.

Reading and rereading the instructions over and over again made her eyeballs hurt, but finally she was almost done. Blowing out a deep breath like a sigh, she put her palms over her eyes, and did not even stir when the door opened again. Probably it was Professor Slughorn, or even the trio of Gryffindor's, ready to tell her why they'd been following her around.

_Just let this potion be done,_ she begged. All she wanted to do was go back to Harry's rooms and build a fire and--

"Ohhhh," Pollux Sennet said. "I _am _a lucky bloke."

Ginny whirled around, almost falling out of her chair, at the sound of Pollux Sennet's voice. Her stomach cramped with fear and anger. It did not take long at all to put everything together: she and Sennet were alone together in a dungeon room, he'd made his intentions more than clear in the library, and Ginny was in very real danger.

She dove for her wand.

Her face was struck with what felt like a Beater's bat -- but was, in fact, a nasty hex -- and her body tumbled backward, onto the table, and struck the floor. Hard. It knocked the breath out of her, and Ginny lay there, stunned, for several seconds. Blood dripped from her nose into her mouth and it tasted coppery and salty on her lips.

_Get up._

Ginny struggled to her feet.

Sennet stood on the other side of the table, face split wide with an open smile that made her want to vomit. Her heart leapt up into her throat when she saw that her bag -- her _wand_ -- dangled from his finger. "Not so fierce now, are you?" he asked her. "Haven't got your wand... can't send me any little curses. Not that it wasn't a fun game -- but now it's_my_ turn to play with _you._"

"Harry will come," she said loudly. Very carefully, she did not glance at the door. _Please let the trio still be out there... let them be waiting for the chance to follow me around._ "He won't let anything happen to me. He'll be here." _Get Harry, please, get him,_ she ordered the three Gryffindors who may -- or may not -- be sitting outside the door. "Harry Potter will be here," she added, just to be safe, almost yelling it.

"He doesn't seem like the type to share," Sennet said thoughtfully. He eyed her, apparently trying to come to a decision. "_Imperio_," he said.

Immediately, Ginny felt a floating sensation, as though she were looking down at herself from above. _Do everything I tell you to do,_ said a little voice inside her head. _And enjoy everything I tell you to do--_

"Absolutely not," Ginny said loudly, feeling a flare of triumph that she'd broken the curse. The surprised and almost fearful look in his eyes was almost as gratifying. But even though she'd broken his feeble curse, the fact still remained that she didn't have her wand...

Almost casually, he flicked his wrist. Ginny ducked, but too late. Magical cords wrapped around her hands and feet. Immediately, she began to fight it -- _no, no, no, no, no,_ she chanted, twisting and turning, trying everything to get away. Within moments, she found herself bound tightly to the leg of the table, feet splayed out in front of her.

The feeling of bindings around her wrist made her stomach crawl, even more than the look on Sennet's face, or the way his hand moved on the front of his trousers.

Gradually, she forced the panic to go away. It struck her as slightly odd that he hadn't moved to touch her... hadn't done anything yet other than bind her. _Think, Ginny, think,_she told herself. But confusion warred with fear and anger when he turned his back on her and set his cauldron on the table, gathering supplies.

Arnold jumped onto her belly, squeaking in distress.

"What are you doing?" Ginny spat out.

"Making my potion," he said casually. "I've got to make it up. I was gone this morning." Then, as she gaped at him, he winked at her. "Plus... I want you to have plenty of time to get ready for me."

"Get--?"

"Wet," he said frankly. He still had his back to her, smashing little ingredients with a silver knife. _Another thing to worry about,_ thought Ginny. She wiggled her hands, attempting to loosen the bindings. "I want to give you enough time to get yourself wet before I fuck you."

For almost a minute, all she could do was stare at the back of his fat head, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He honestly believed that she'd find the idea of him raping her erotic? A wave of fury rippled over her body, burning away the fear and confusion, leaving her head remarkably clear. "I'm not going to _get wet_ for you," she said through clenched teeth. "I would _never._"

Sennet turned around and pointed the knife at her. Unbelievably, he was still smiling. "That's where I know you're lying," he told her. "Yesterday in Hagrid's hut you were_panting_ for it. I watched you... you were moaning and probably even screaming... Draco said you were a screamer."

Tears stung her eyes, and she stared blearily down at Arnold. He had blood on him from where he'd tried to cuddle with her. "You are completely wrong," she said in a low, forceful voice, once her throat was working again. "Harry doesn't _fuck_ me," she informed him. "He makes love to me. And he--"

"He's just like me," Sennet told her. Casually, he reached for the front of his trousers and pulled them down, along with his pants. Ginny looked away, not wanting to see his stubby little penis. "He's _exactly_ like me."

"Bull shit," Ginny said flatly. "If you--"

"The only difference between us is that you're spreading your legs for him and not for me," Sennet interrupted. He slammed his silver knife into the table, sending it deep into the wood. For the first time since he'd come into the room, he actually looked angry. His face twisted up, and he pointed an accusing finger at her. "And why the fuck is that?" he shouted at her.

Before Ginny could open her mouth and tell him that everything about him repulsed her -- every hair on his head, to the tip of his toes -- he waved his hand and turned back to his potion. "It doesn't matter," he muttered, movements jerky. Not bothering to pull his pants back up, he turned his back to her. "You'll be spreading them soon enough."

"You'd better learn how to do a better Imperius, then," she told him furiously. "That's the only way you'll get me."

"Fucking _bitch!_" he swore. He strode over to her and cut a large strip of cloth from the bottom of her robes. Unceremoniously, he stuffed it in her mouth. "I'll have you begging and panting for it, just like Potter, you whore," he kicked her in the leg.

Ginny choked on a breath. She was angry, yes, livid. But... she was starting to feel real fear that Sennet wouldn't stop with rape... he might _kill_ her. _No,_ she thought, renewing her efforts on her bindings. _Absolutely not. Not when I've just found Harry. Not now._ The minutes passed and she grew more and more desperate. Where was Slughorn? Where was Harry?

But her attempts to escape were futile; the magical cords were far too tight. And she was forced to listen to Sennet's jealousy and insanity and do nothing about it. _Please get here,_ she pleaded silently. _Please, Harry._

"—And Draco used to tell us—"

Ginny blocked out the sound of his voice. Arnold huddled against her damp neck, afraid and confused.

"—You're bloody well going to let me stick it in you, you let everyone else—"

_Harry's going to hate me,_ Ginny thought miserably. It seemed stupid, moronic, that she hadn't told him about Sennet, especially after the library. She should've just let him kill him…

But she needed to be alive for him to hate. And alive in order to cajole him out of his rage. Ginny began to make all sorts of irrational promises to Harry, to Merlin, to a higher power in the universe that may or may not be real… As a minute, two minutes, three minutes ticked by while Sennet was rapidly losing control of himself, she made more and more rash promises.

_I'll--_

_Crack!_

Without her even realizing it, Sennet had backhanded her across the face. Ginny moaned, trying to cover her face, but her arms were held too tightly across her body. "YOU'RE NOT THE ONE SUPPOSED TO BE PLAYING GAMES!" he shouted at her, spittle flew in her face.

Rearing back, he jerked his arm up. "_Sectumsempra!_"

For one breathless moment, Ginny was certain that this was the moment that she was going to die; trapped absurdly, taken away because she'd been stupid enough not to tell Harry.

Instead, jagged pain ripped through her torso. The bindings fell away, along with her clothes. Ginny took deep breaths through her nose, not wanting to scream. But she couldn't help but cover her breasts with her arms. Blood flowed freely, and she swayed, falling over.

Arnold let out a squawk of outrage, and threw himself at Sennet.

"Ow, shit!" Sennet shouted, as Arnold bit down on his neck. He grabbed the pygmy puff and threw him down on the ground, as hard as he could. Arnold let out an anguished little cry and fell still.

Ginny stared at Arnold's body.

_He killed Arnold. He killed Arnold, he killed Arnold, he killed Arnold._

"Nasty little bugger," Sennet muttered. His voice came at her as though from a long distance. _Not Arnold._ He'd been with her for so long; had been her only comfort for years... had loved her unconditionally, without asking anything of her except that she take care of him.

"Nnph," Ginny breathed around the gag.

Just then, the door exploded, alerting Ginny to Harry's arrival, and little splinters of wood rained down in right before it. Sennet's face was a mask of fear and surprise, and his wand was held limply at his side. Reaching out, Ginny snatched it out of his hand, ignoring the sudden, intense pain between her breasts.

"But you--"

"_Ginny!_" Harry shouted.

"Gerrnld!" Ginny yelled at him around the gag, gesturing with one hand toward her pygmy puff. Glaring at Sennet, she wanted to say a hundred things, wanted him to understand that he couldn't touch her, that she'd never want him. But his leg twitched, and he kicked out at her--

Fire erupted from the tip of the wand she had stolen from him, engulfing him in flames.

---------

----------

**Author's Note:**

_Hello, everyone! It's been a while since I did one of these... but I feel like I should explain that I've had quite an eventful past few weeks. The holidays were stressful. I found out that I'm having another baby. And not to mention, this chapter was just plain difficult to write. I hope everyone can appreciate why... Arnold, Sennet, the library, no pregnancy, etc. It was rough. I've already made fairly good progress on the next chapter, though! And I think... there will be a scene that a lot of people have been waiting for. _

_Any guesses as to what that is? ;)_


	31. The Long and Winding Road

Harry was beyond angry.

The expression on Ginny's face goaded him up the stairs, battering at him, confusing him. His intention was to seek this answer from Dumbledore: Fawkes was needed. Arnold was hurt badly (though Harry thanked Merlin that Ginny had been wrong); Harry did not see how the little pygmy puff could survive without the phoenix. And while this certainty had sparked this flight up the moving staircases, the image of what he'd walked in on, and the way she'd flinched from his touch, filled him.

Her flight was born of the need to find someone to save Arnold. Harry didn't think she'd stopped to process what had happened. He thundered by moving portraits.

"Professor -- what's happening?" shouted a wizened old wizard, who had followed him halfway down the corridor.

Harry ignored this. Roughly pushing past students, the sick fear in his belly grew even worse. _Please don't let her have been raped,_ he prayed. But she'd _flinched_ when he'd tried to comfort her, and Harry could only think that meant something awful. How could it not?

A vision of Pollux fucking Sennet rose up in his mind. His dick had been out; Harry had seen it, pointing straight at _his_ Ginny, as though he could take by force from her what she had freely given Harry.

_Almost there._

He needed to see her. He needed to be running toward the gates beside her. Arnold needed to survive, and Harry had to wrap his arms around her, just like he had after Christmas. Instead, he was running toward Dumbledore's portrait. The horrible feeling flew by portraits and students; with each step he took it grew worse. Burning had been too quick, and Harry ached to have been the one to kill him. Not Ginny.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!" he bellowed. A seventh year Gryffindor lurched toward the wall, narrowly missing being run down.

It seemed almost surreal that he was here at Hogwarts. Whenever he blinked, he kept expecting to find the spacious, opulent rooms of Malfoy Manor. It was so close, and so vivid in his mind. The sitting room strewn with bodies, a fourteen year old Ginny pale and silent like a ghost, Voldemort's red eyes flashing. Harry wished that he'd been forced to view Sennet's torment, whatever it was.

It was worse, not knowing what had happened to her.

Half-formed questions swam around in his head. As he made his way steadily closer to his goal, his mind flitted from one to the other without him even fully thinking them. _What happened to her? Why was she--? Why had his touch been so unwelcome--? Why had that fucker even touched her... he had to have known I'd kill him..._

It was clear to Harry that he should have followed up on his suspicions about Sennet. He'd never liked the way Sennet had watched her. _I should have done something,_ Harry thought, acute pain filling him. He'd failed her again. Not only as her boyfriend, but as her professor.

It was with surprise that he found himself outside the office of the headmaster. Panting for breath, he leaned up against the wall, holding himself up. His heart was threatening to leap out of his chest.

"Professor--?"

Harry shook his head, whispered the password, and followed the moving staircase up to the heavy wooden door. Anger pushed him through it, though Harry was hard-pressed to decide who he was more furious with: Sennet or himself. There was an outcry from the portraits at his entrance; Harry spared a fleeting glance around the room, enough to notice that Flitwick was not there, before he turned his attention to the portrait behind the desk.

"I need your help," Harry said. His voice echoed strangely in his own ears.

Dumbledore's portrait looked shocked to see him. "But--"

"I don't have time," Harry cut him off, pointing.

"What do you need?" the portrait asked quietly. The painted blue eyes were calm.

"Fawkes," said Harry. "I need -- I need phoenix tears." Swallowing hard, Harry added, "_Please._ You must have some idea where to -- where to find him."

Shrewd eyes pierced him. "Is it Miss Weasley?"

"No -- yes," Harry said. "Yes. Dumbledore... please."

"It won't be easy," Dumbledore warned.

Harry closed his eyes briefly, seeing Arnold, and the look on Ginny's face. After all she had suffered, Ginny did not need to lose the one little innocent life that had been her only source of comfort for three long years. Arnold was so precious to her... "I'll do anything," Harry said firmly.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The moment Molly Weasley saw her daughter running up the drive as though she was being chased by something horrific, something unseen, she was transported back to the night when Ginny had returned from Malfoy Manor. She stood, paralyzed, staring out the kitchen window, as the memories swamped her.

_Arthur had just returned home from another long day at the Ministry._

"Arthur, let me take your cloak," she said, gently removing it from her exhausted husband's body.

"It was another awful day. I--"

But Arthur never finished his sentence.

The bang on their back door shattered the quiet night. Molly reeled back from it, suddenly terrified, thoughts of Death Eaters already whirling through her mind. Arthur shoved her behind him, his wand fixed on the door. Her wand was already out, held in trembling fingers.

"Declare yourself!" Arthur said loudly.

"I'm a healer from St. Mungo's, I have your daughter!"

For one frozen instant, Molly's eyes met Arthur's. It has to be a trap,_ Molly thought, but how could they refuse to open the door? _What -- why--__

"Let me in. She's dying!"

But Ginny was as safe as she could be in these dark times, wasn't she? Safe at Hogwarts... protected by her status as a pure-blood. A soft whimper reached her ears, muffled though it was by the heavy door, fortified by all the spells that Bill knew how to cast.

That's Ginny,_ Molly thought. She was sure of it._

Even as she had the thought, Arthur was already opening the door. Molly kept her wand raised high, ready to attack if this really was not a healer. A thousand scenarios crashed through her mind at once. A Death Eater trap... they'd grabbed Ginny from Hogwarts...

But the truth, Molly saw, was far worse than she'd thought it was. A tall man held a small redhead in his arms. His face was not lit with menace, but he looked confused and worried.

"What--?"

"Step back, Molly," Arthur said, sounding genuinely frightened.

The healer stepped out of the dim light of the porch, and Molly gasped when she more clearly saw her daughter. Her face was bruised, and a trickle of blood came out of her mouth. "No," she whispered.

"Molly! Step back!"

Molly finally moved, pressing herself up against the wall, letting the healer pass. Arthur gestured toward the sitting room, white-faced. The healer strode forward, and Molly and Arthur followed.

"What the fuck_ happened?" Arthur demanded, sounding furious and almost undone. His eyes traveled over his daughter's body -- she was wrapped in a cloak much too large for her. As the healer settled her onto the sofa and waved complex charms, a bare leg was revealed. Her head lolled back on the cushions... _she's so pale...__

If it weren't for her eyelids flickering, Molly might have thought she was dead... she was ghastly white against the dark fabric.

"I have no idea," the healer muttered. "Harry Potter dragged me out of St. Mungo's... he says You-Know-Who is gone..."

The words washed over her. "What was she doing with Harry?" Molly asked. "Where's Ron -- Hermione?"

The healer didn't have an answer for her; instead, he drew back Ginny's borrowed cloak, revealing her daughter's naked body. Her stomach was dark and bruised -- the bruises were almost purple. Other small, half-healed scars dotted her body. But they look so old,_Molly thought. Her brain felt fogged and unable to function properly, and she couldn't _do_anything... just stand there with countless questions racing through her head..._

"This will be the most difficult," the healer murmured. "I've brought a potion with me -- she'll need it, but it'll make her very confused when she first wakes up. I wouldn't want to do this, not with everything else--"

"What everything else?" Arthur asked. He stood at the head of the sofa, staring at Ginny's face.

The healer was silent for a long moment. "Potter said she's been raped," he said gently. "He led me to believe that it was more than once, and I expect there's been trauma..."

The memory left as swiftly as it came, but Molly was frozen for seconds longer, taking in the details of how Ginny looked as she practically flew toward the Burrow. The cloak she wore was much too large for her, and trailed on the ground behind her. She had it gathered up in one hand. It had pulled open to reveal the tattered, bloody remains of her school uniform blouse. As she neared, Molly saw that her face was bruised... she'd been hit--

"ARTHUR!" Molly screamed, whirling away from the window, finally galvanized into action. Belatedly remembering that Ron and Hermione were there. "RON! HERMIONE!"

Footsteps clattered down the stairs -- it sounded like a small herd of hippogriffs were coming toward her, but Molly ignored this. She flung open the door, already running to meet Ginny. She didn't say a word.

"Mum -- get Fred -- George," Ginny panted.

"What happened. Ginny, what's--"

"No time!" Ginny yelled. Her face was streaked with tears. They flowed steadily out of her eyes. "It's Arnold--"

Ginny skirted around her, barreling toward the kitchen, stopping suddenly when she saw Arthur, and Ron and Hermione just behind him. All of them had identical looks of horror on their faces as they took in Ginny's appearance.

"Ron -- Hermione," Molly said. She pointed at the floo. "Go get Fred and George. Get all of them."

They exchanged glances, looking torn and confused, but an instant later they were rushing toward the hearth. Hermione left first, disappearing in a whirl of green flames. Ron followed, dropping the container of floo powder. It shattered on the floor, but he was already gone.

"Dad, help him," Ginny cried. "He's hurt--"

She held out Arnold toward him. The little pygmy puff was in a worse state than even Ginny, and Molly felt a sick, plummeting feeling in her belly. _If Arnold dies..._

But she couldn't finish the thought.

Arthur was quicker than she was to react. He already held the little animal gently in one of his hands, and carried him over to the kitchen table. Ginny sat down heavily in a chair as though her legs wouldn't hold her anymore. Tears still ran unchecked out of her eyes, and her thin shoulders shook.

"Ginny, what--"

But Ginny shook her head, keeping her lips pressed together.

Molly tentatively reached for her shoulder, but Ginny jerked away. "I'm fine, I'm fine, it's Arnold," she said. She watched intently as Arthur held his wand over the small body. He glanced over at Molly once, and an instant of understanding passed between them. Ginny loved Arnold as much as she allowed herself to love anything since Malfoy Manor... if Arnold died...

"Ginny," Arthur said gently. "Arnold is very hurt."

Molly could see that the pygmy puff was bleeding out of his eyes, and every breath seemed to take huge effort for him.

"Just keep him alive, please, Daddy," Ginny begged. She covered her eyes with her hands, but almost instantly uncovered them again. "Just keep him alive... Harry will save him... he'll do it... I know he will. All you have to do is _keep him alive._"

Molly winced. It was obvious to her that Ginny had suffered trauma... it was possible that she was regressing, that she was overcome by dark memories, and thought that Harry would come, the way he had at Malfoy Manor. "Are you--"

But she didn't finish the sentence. George tumbled out of the floo. "What the--"

"It's Arnold," Arthur said intently, still staring at the violet pygmy puff. "He's been hurt. It's bad, George."

George knocked him out of the way, bending over Arnold. He looked up at Molly, and gave his head a slight shake.

"No!" Ginny said loudly. "Don't shake your head like that! All you have to do is keep him alive, I swear, Harry will be here."

George looked at her, eyes devoid of any humor whatsoever. He nodded once, and Molly could kiss him for somehow understanding that Ginny needed to believe that Harry would be there for her once again... there was no harm in allowing her this small comfort...

Fred arrived next, and then Bill, Percy, Remus, and even Tonks, hugely pregnant though she was. Molly ignored the exclamations that filled the room. _Please don't let Arnold die... please._ Her fingers itched to heal her daughter, but the set, intense look on Ginny's face kept her from it. Her eyes followed every move that George, and now Fred, made.

Kingsley arrived next, followed directly by Ron and Hermione, who both looked shaken and sooty. "What happened?" Kingsley asked in his deep voice. "I've just heard word from Hogwarts--"

"Please," Ginny said. "Just a little while longer. Harry will be here..."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. Molly drew back, mouth opening to ask if they'd somehow managed to contact him, wondering if his presence would help or hinder Ginny.

But Hermione spoke before Molly could. "Are you sure he'll be here?" she asked gently.

Ginny whirled on her, hair flying. "Of course he'll be here," she said viciously. "I know he will."

"If he blames himself for whatever happened--"

Ron's words were cut off by a loud bang. Fire blazed suddenly. Molly let out a gasping scream and stumbled backward as flames erupted in the center of the kitchen, flaring suddenly and without any warning at all. _What -- no--_

But the fire died as abruptly as it had appeared. And where it had been just moments before stood Harry Potter, bared forearm dripping with blood, and grasping the magnificent plumage of a phoenix.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Remus took two large steps backward in shock at Harry's sudden, dramatic entrance. Dora followed along with him, letting out surprised squeak, gripping his fingers convulsively, and keeping him upright when the counter nearly tripped him up.

It was not only them that found Harry's arrival sudden and inexplicable. Molly sat down heavily in a chair, her mouth hanging open. Bill swore loudly and banged into the wall so hard that he sent a small clock tumbling to the floor. The face broke, sending the hands flying around. One bounced off Percy's foot. Percy, however, did not appear to notice; the usually unflappable Weasley had an uncharacteristically dumbfounded look on his face. Slack-jawed, he stared at Harry.

Kingsley, true to form, betrayed no other sign of surprise than a raised eyebrow.

In Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George, however, Remus found quite a different reaction. They appeared more relieved than anything. Hermione even had her hands covering her eyes, and was thanking God, Merlin, and others quite fluently.

Steeling himself, Remus looked at Arthur. In truth, he was afraid to see anger, blame, or hatred… Arthur's feelings about Harry were a large enough question mark that Remus wondered if Harry would be welcome here at the Burrow. Even now.

But Arthur's face expressed only shock, before it quickly fell into the familiar, blank look.

"Fawkes," Harry bit off. Remus jerked his attention back to Harry just in time to see him point at the small pygmy puff. "Heal him."

The bird the color of the flames that had just appeared and disappeared so quickly stretched its large wings, and glided over the heads of Fred and George, who had to duck in order to avoid being cuffed, and landed on the table. It was not so graceful as it hobbled forward, talons digging into the wood. Fawkes peered down at Arnold, eyes large and bright... and growing brighter.

A single tear from the phoenix dripped into Arnold's panting mouth.

"It has to work, it has to," Ginny moaned.

Remus realized that she alone had been completely unsurprised to see Harry, as though the elusive, guilt-ridden boy made these sorts of appearances every day.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Bill thundered.

"Harry, what happened?" Ron asked. "Ginny hasn't told us anything—"

"I – but – you," Molly stuttered. She sounded quite undone.

"It's all right, it's all right," Hermione murmured. "It's all right. It's all right, isn't it, Harry?"

"Harry…" Remus said, but let his voice trail away. He had no idea what to say, and soon everyone was talking over him, asking questions. Even Kingsley…

Harry ignored all of them.

His attention was focused solely on Ginny. It was as though, to him, she was the only living, breathing person in the room. And Ginny sat – looking very small in the large robes – watching Arnold. A small, midnight blue ball of fluff jumped onto the table and in an odd, rolling type run, scampered over to Arnold. Remus recalled it from Christmas… his son had called it Puffy…

"Is it working?" Dora asked tentatively.

But she had her answer when Arnold's bloodshot eyes returned to their natural color. His tiny body slowly stopped quivering uncontrollably, and his breathing eased. Ginny let out a quiet sob. Arnold blinked a few time, and let out a shaking little squeak. The other one, Puffy, chirped back at him, tentatively.

"Thank God," Ron said, heartfelt.

"Yes, thank you," Ginny whispered shakily. Her face was almost bloodless, and the livid bruise was stark on her face. Her gaze was still fixed on Arnold, and her lips were trembling. "Thank you so much… Harry… Dad…"

Neither Harry nor Arthur breathed a word.

A thousand different expressions crossed Harry's face and somehow seemed to meld together. The closest Remus could come to describing it was how he himself felt right before the full moon turned him into something less than a man: anguish, terror, and fury. Anyone with eyes could see that something horrible had happened, but the look on Harry's face caused a sick lurch in Remus' belly.

"Ginny, love—"

"I'd like to know what—"

"Who the hell did this to you—"

"How the hell did you even know to come here, Harry?"

The Weasleys could no longer remain silent, and the clamor rose to a dull roar. For a while, it even masked the fact that the windows rattled dangerously in their frames. Remus turned, brow furrowing, and stared at them. It was as though they were being pushed by a large wind somehow inside the Burrow. Even as he watched, a small crack traveled the length of a pane.

"Tell us—"

"I killed him," Ginny said fiercely. But as he turned his attention back to her, her face crumpled. "I – I – I killed him," she repeated, and her entire body began to tremble even as she rubbed harshly at her nose. "I can smell – it's the – I can still _smell it_--"

Harry was at her side so quickly that Remus could hardly believe that someone could move so fast. A conjured bucket appeared at her feet, just in time. She vomited into it, the contents of her stomach making a splattering sound on the bottom.

"Ginny…" Molly moaned. "Who did you kill, baby?"

But Ginny was heaving still. Harry leaned over her, holding her hair away from her face. Though his actions appeared gentle, tender even, his face was still set in harsh lines, and the rattling only grew louder. One hand moved to Ginny's back and rubbed it. Long moments passed; everyone, Remus included, looked on with breathless, horrified silence.

"Remus, what do you think happened?" Dora whispered so quietly that no one else heard her.

He shook his head.

"I hope it wasn't…" But she seemed unable to finish the thought.

"Harry, you'd better tell us what's going on," Bill said warningly.

"Bill," Ron snapped.

"I just want to know what the hell happened," Bill said loudly. "Where was Ginny? Why wasn't she at Hogwarts -- _again_? How did Harry know to be here? And why is our sister bloody and bruised? And why the hell did she have to kill someone?"

Ginny pushed herself off the chair, face bright red, strode over to cupboard and grabbed a glass. She filled it with water from the sink and drained it in a few gulps. Keeping her back to everyone, she clenched her glass so tightly that her knuckles went white.

Harry remained where he was seated head in his hands for a moment, before he too got up. He stared at the back of her head.

The moment she straightened her spine, he spoke, as though that was the cue he'd been waiting for. "What happened?" he asked in a low, tight voice.

"_You_ don't even know?" Ron asked, flabbergasted.

"I know what I walked in on," Harry said darkly. "Ginny," he said again.

"Harry, I—" she began.

"Did he rape you?"

"Not again!" Dora was the first to react.

"She'd better not have been – that's – I—"

"_Ginny!_" The name practically exploded from Harry's lips, immediately silencing everyone else in the room. "Just tell me what the fuck happened." He put his hand down on the table, and it broke into jagged, splintered pieces.

Harry ignored this. "Please," he said in a quieter voice.

"He didn't," Ginny turned to face him. "I swear he didn't. Couldn't you tell? He—"

"He had his trousers down—"

"But he wasn't—"

"—And his revolting _dick_ pointed straight at you—"

But the interruption this time did not come from Ginny. All the windows in the kitchen did what they'd been threatening to do since Harry had arrived: They shattered, and blew out into the night.

"You are out of control," said Percy, barely moving his lips. "You need to—"

"He needs to bloody well stay away from Ginny until he can," Bill said. Remus' eyes widened when he saw that he'd drawn his wand. _Shit._ His own wand drawn, he took a quick step forward as Bill continued, "He's acting like he's bloody in love with her—"

Ron smacked Bill – hard – on the back of his head. "What gave you the first clue, you moron?" he shouted.

"But he's—"

"Stay away from him, Bill," Ginny glared at him.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Ron felt bad for his oldest brother, he really did. And he knew that Bill wasn't about to curse Harry, which was why Ron didn't disarm him. At the most, Bill would have put up a shielding charm. But even with Harry's accidental magic all out of control, Ron knew that the last thing he'd do was hurt Ginny.

He felt the need to make this painfully clear to _everyone_. After casting a fleeting glance at his father, who was gaping at Harry and Ginny along with the rest of them, he said, "Harry would never hurt Ginny."

"Not intentionally," Bill defended. "But he's got things breaking and windows flying apart all over the place—"

Ron smacked him again. "Harry _died_ for her—"

"RON!" Harry shouted. "This isn't about me!" His hands were clenched in tight fists, and he was breathing heavily, as though he'd just run from Hogwarts and back.

Strangely, Ginny seemed to grow calmer, and no longer shook like a leaf. "Harry," she said quietly. "He didn't rape me."

"And you wouldn't… you wouldn't lie to me, would you?" Harry asked. A hint of vulnerability shone through under all the tension in his voice, and Ron had to look away. He turned, instead, to Hermione. She stared straight back at him, and he saw everything he felt reflecting back at him.

_How much can two people take without breaking?_ Ron asked himself. Unless he missed his guess, Harry was right on the verge. Glass clacked together ominously in the cupboards, and the longer Ginny remained silent, the worse Harry looked.

A small, very cold hand slipped into Ron's, and gripped it so tightly that his knuckles cracked.

"He's losing control," Hermione breathed.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, just as quietly. "And we have to let him."

"I know," Hermione replied.

"Tell me," he said. "Tell us. No one here is going to think you've – that you have anything to be ashamed of." His words were obviously meant to be comforting, but they sounded like a bit of a threat.

_Merlin._

"I…"

"Ginny, Harry's right," his mum said gently. "If anything – if anything happened, you don't need to—"

"It was my fault," said Ginny. "I—"

"Don't blame yourself," Harry interrupted her, shaking his head. "Don't. Just… don't."

"He didn't rape me," Ginny said again, voice shaking. Her eyes were wide. "But I should have told you. I should have… I was stupid…"

"Method told me," Harry said, taking a step backward. "He told me – how could you have—?"

But his words were swallowed up by a loud clamor. Percy was demanding to know --_immediately_ -- what was going on. Remus and Dora whispered furiously together – at one point Dora looked over at Ron, and he could tell that she'd figured it out.

"But what does this mean?" his mum asked. "And why – what are they doing together?"

Hermione murmured something, but Ron couldn't figure it out. The twins had pulled Bill over to the side along with Kingsley, and were explaining things in quiet, rapid voices. It was unusual for Ron to feel like the only pocket of silence in the room.

Except for his dad.

Ron's stomach clenched. His dad was watching Harry very carefully; he'd picked up a broken piece of the table, and was clenching the wood tightly in his fist.

And Harry… Harry was way too – something – to even notice that most of the people in the room were talking over each other. He seemed almost totally unaware that he was at the Burrow, surrounded by Ron's family; under the circumstances, Ron couldn't blame him. It probably didn't help that he had a gaping wound in his arm. But Ginny was aware enough that she had an audience. Her eyes flickered back and forth from Harry, to random points on the wall, to the rest of the family.

Ron whispered a spell, and a loud, piercing siren immediately cut through the multiple conversations. Deciding that simplicity was the best here, he said, "Harry is teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Yeah, they're together. Yeah, they're in love. Now," he paused, flicking a glance at his dad, and then turning to Ginny. "Ginny, tell us what happened."

To his surprise, she actually did. "I had to make up a potion after class," she said. "And – I don't know where Slughorn went—"

"He was in a meeting with the rest of us," Harry told her, jaw clenched. "Professors."

"—And Sennet"—her face twisted up in a grimace—"came in. I didn't – didn't have my wand out." No one said anything when her pause lasted almost two minutes. Ron was afraid to breathe too loudly; Ginny had _never_ spoken so calmly about Malfoy Manor. "He… he… knocked me over and used the Imperius Curse—"

"The Imperius?" Kingsley asked, deep voice gentle. "Did he—"

"No," Ginny shook her head, straightening her shoulders. "No – he couldn't… I broke it. And then he tied me to the table—"

"That fucker," Ron muttered.

"What the hell was he thinking?" Harry asked loudly, voice cracking like a whip. A single cup teetered on the edge of the cupboard, finally toppling over and shattering. Out of the corner of his eyes, Ron caught his dad looking at it, face drawn in tight lines.

"What do you—?" Ginny began.

"He must've known that I'd kill him for touching you—"

"I don't think he—"

"The world knows that I killed everyone who touched you," Harry told her. "And that was before… before us."

"The world doesn't know that we're together, Harry—"

"Everyone at Hogwarts knows you're _mine_," Harry said in a hard voice. "Why the _hell_would he have even gone near you?" Ron smelled something burning, and realized that scorch marks on the floor radiated away from Harry's feet.

Ron turned his attention back to Ginny; no one else appeared to be even breathing. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Harry; her mouth was set in a firm, closed line. She gave Ron a fleeting look, and shook her head.

"He had to have known that I would have killed him."

"He – he – I don't think…"

"Ginny—"

"Harry, you're scaring her!" Percy said in a loud voice.

For the first time, Ron noticed that everyone had ranged themselves in such a way that made him unaccountably nervous. He now stood almost directly behind Harry; the twins had moved closer, and Remus and Tonks were closer still. Percy, Bill, and his parents were behind Ginny. A sense of foreboding filled him when he realized they were perfectly positioned to—

"He is _not_ scaring me!" Ginny flared up at once. The knots in Ron's belly eased when Percy made a face, but backed off. But he couldn't deny that Percy had a point. Wariness bruised her eyes.

"I need to know," Harry said. There was a note of anguish in his tone, underneath the barely controlled fury.

Ron took a deep breath, wanting to look away – whatever Harry was feeling suddenly seemed private. He didn't think he'd ever seen such a combination of vulnerability and protectiveness, and it was something only Ginny should see.

"I have to know what he said… what he did… how he hurt you," Harry continued. "It's worse, not knowing."

Instead of answering him, Ginny turned away suddenly and moved several feet away, where the pygmy puffs gamboled around carelessly, blissfully unaware of what was going on. _We've lost her,_ Ron thought with a sinking feeling. She was scooping up Arnold gently in her hands and doing what she'd done for years: using him to avoid thinking, or feeling anything difficult.

Not that he didn't blame her, but how Harry would react to this, he had no idea. "Ginny—"

But he cut himself off when Ginny stood up again, and stepped over to Harry. She placed Arnold in his hand, whispered something Ron couldn't hear, and backed away. For the first time since he'd arrived in a swirl of flames, Harry took his eyes off of her for more than a few seconds.

"Sennet – he saw us in Hagrid's hut the other day," Ginny said quickly, her cheeks scarlet.

Ron shifted uneasily; he could guess what that meant, and he was shocked that Bill didn't interject. It didn't help matters that the burning smell was growing worse, filling his nostrils. There was no visible reaction from Harry, and he did not look up from Arnold.

"He thought – thought that you were just… like him," said Ginny. "That it was – that it was something you… "

"Is that what you think, Ginny?" Harry asked. Ron could only see the back of his head and part of his profile. But for the tightening in his shoulders, Harry seemed totally calm. Too calm.

"_The curtains!_" Hermione hissed, pulling her hand out of his grasp. Ron tore his eyes away from the scene in front of him, only to find the drapes around the non-existent windows had gone up into sudden, furious flames.

It was Kingsley who put them out, though Hermione had moved to help him.

"Of course I don't think that," said Ginny.

"Then why did you flinch?"

"What?" Ginny asked blankly.

"You _flinched_," Harry told her. "When I tried to comfort you, you pulled away from me. Just like you did after Voldemort died."

Looking over at the twins, wondering if they felt the same trepidation that Ron did. George had his good ear turned out toward the conversation, obviously not wanting to miss a word. Fred met his eyes and gave his head a jerk, as though asking if they were going to stop it somehow.

Ron shook his head.

"I didn't mean to," Ginny said. "I was just... Arnold... and--"

Even though Ron could hear the raw truth in her words, Harry obviously wasn't satisfied. He spoke as though he hadn't heard what she'd even said.

"If you think he was telling the truth, then I'll leave--"

"I think I know the difference between being cherished and being raped, Harry!" Ginny shouted. There was very real fear on her face -- Merlin knew that Harry was quite capable of leaving, he'd already done so once -- but it quickly hardened. She pointed a finger at him. "Don't you dare try to leave me, I will drag your arse back so quickly--"

"All right, I--"

"I know where you sleep," she added dangerously.

Inexplicably, Ron felt the wholly inappropriate urge to smile. _Now isn't the time, Ron,_ he told himself, trying to sound -- in his own head -- as much like Hermione as possible. But despite the gravity of the situation, Ginny sounded the way she used to. Ron had about a thousand memories of her threatening to retaliate for pranks and teasing while he was sleeping.

Harry seemed slightly mollified by her threats, and he nodded sharply, running his hand through his already untidy hair. "Right, I... sorry," he mumbled. "I just... did anything else...?"

Ginny shook her head. "He was just... making his potion," she told him, sounding mystified. "I -- he was saying things, but he didn't actually do much of anything."

"Thank Merlin," his mum said, sighing deeply. "Thank Merlin," she repeated.

"I'm all right, Mum," Ginny said, turning slightly. She then looked back at Harry; her smile was tremulous, but it was there all the same. "I really am. I'm not going to let this loom over me, Harry. It isn't going to be like... I'm not going back to how I was." Her back was straight and her shoulders square. "If I flinched, it was just... stupid. But I'm not flinching now. And I won't."

Ron thought this was a very large hint that Ginny wanted Harry to hug her, but Harry did not seem to catch it. In direct contrast to Ginny, Ron watched as Harry's shoulders hunched just a little.

"I'm grateful," said Harry, with obvious effort. "I don't think you realize how _glad_ I am that you're safe, that you weren't hurt even worse. But I -- I feel like I'm right back at Malfoy Manor again, like something out of my absolute worst nightmare, like it was happening all over again."

"Harry--"

"You were even next to a table, just the way I found you," Harry continued, as though Ginny had not tried to interrupt him. "I had to give you my cloak, just like last time. You flinched away, just like last time. You were hurt, bleeding, and it was exactly like every nightmare I've had for the last _four years_. And I don't... understand why you aren't feeling it a thousand times worse than I am."

Ron resisted the urge to cover his eyes, and couldn't help but notice that his family seemed just as transfixed, just as horrified, as he felt. Fred and George stared resolutely at the ground, both looking like they wanted to Apparate directly away. Percy had taken his glasses off, and his hand was pressed tightly against his temple. His mum still sat in her chair; she'd started to cry, silently.

Even as Ron watched, the broken piece of the table that his dad had grabbed turned into dust.

Harry's raw words pierced through them all. Ginny's experience had been discussed over and over again, yes. But it was different, hearing it from Harry, who had actually been there. His words evoked images that made Ron want to blow up another tree... possibly even several... and made him wish that Harry had spared just one of her rapists -- either of the Malfoys, or Greyback, Ron wasn't picky -- so that Ron could've killed him.

"I was never given a chance to defend myself," said Ginny, closing her eyes briefly. "Today, I was. And I did. I didn't, _didn't_, mean to kill him. It's good to know that I could protect _myself_, and I _did_, even though I knew you'd come for me."

"_Ginny_," Harry said, voice anguished. "You said _that_ then, too--"

"And I wasn't mistaken, was I?" Ginny asked sharply. "You were there at Malfoy Manor, and you were there today--"

"You stood in front of Voldemort the day you were captured and told him that I'd be there for you, that I'd rescue you--"

"I need a little help over here!" Kingsley's voice boomed out. Ron glanced over: the drapes were all aflame. Remus hurried over.

"You _did_ rescue me!" Ginny said loudly.

Harry shook his head. "Too late. I was too late today -- you shouldn't have had to kill him -- and I was too late then. Two _months_ too late. When have I _ever_ been someone you can count on? I _never_--"

"Harry," Ron said, unable to stand by silently any longer. He stepped forward and clasped Harry's shoulder, squeezing tightly when Harry meant to throw him off. "I don't understand why you keep blaming yourself for... everything."

His dad stepped forward; Ron realized with a sense of frozen horror that he had his wand drawn. "I understand perfectly well why Harry blames himself, Ron," he said. His words dropped like stones in the otherwise quiet. "If you thought about it, you would too."


	32. Here Comes the Sun

Arthur opened his mouth to continue speaking, but the twins were faster. The precious few seconds that it took to marshal his thoughts had cost him.

"Dad, you can't _say_ that," said George.

"It isn't fair," agreed Fred.

"If Harry hadn't..." George's voice trailed away, and he suddenly looked much younger... more like a teenager than a man in his twenties. As Arthur watched, George raised his hand to the scar that used to be his ear, and scratched at it.

Both of them, Arthur noticed, stared uneasily at his wand, and he felt a pang of hurt deep inside him. This was furthered by Bill's quiet, "Dad, that isn't the best idea." Arthur forced his constricted chest to relax. _This isn't about me,_ he told himself firmly, consciously echoing Harry's words. Harry, however, was wrong. Instead of erupting at his family and forcing them to acknowledge that he wasn't the monster they apparently thought he was, Arthur turned his attention on Harry.

Ron stood in front of his best mate, and from the mulish, horrified look on his face, Arthur felt as though he'd grown several additional heads, all of which bore significant resemblance to enemies. "What the he-hell is going on, Dad?" Ron asked forcefully.

"Ron," Harry said quietly. His face was hidden from view.

Arthur knew he was lucky that he had some inkling of the truth. He'd been composing a letter to Harry in his head for the last month. Weeks of trying to find words -- the perfect words -- had led Arthur to almost having it figured out. It was only slightly different, now that he had to say it out loud, without the comfort of hiding behind the written word. Red blurred out the corner of his eye; Ginny had shifted, but Arthur resolutely did not look at her.

"Step aside, Ron," Arthur said tightly.

"Like hell," Ron said immediately. "I'm not going to--"

"Ron," Harry said, louder this time. "He can -- he's allowed to say what he wants."

A little coil of anger unfurled in Arthur's belly as Ron moved, and it only grew when Harry briefly closed his eyes and turned to Arthur. His coloring was high, and his jaw was clenched. Harry looked as though Arthur had hit him, or done him some grievous injury. Wariness had crept into his green eyes, which were red and bruised around the edges. It was clear that not only did he expect Arthur to blame him -- to yell at him or curse him or kick him out of the Burrow -- but Harry also wasn't going to say one word to defend himself.

"Ginny," Ron turned to look at his sister, exasperation written clearly on his face. "Harry's completely mental--"

"I agree that Dad should be given a chance to speak," said Ginny, voice formal.

"Ah...oh...well, thank you," he stammered, thrown by her unexpected support.. Her apparent faith in him confused him. In his family, he thought that she'd be the one least likely to want to listen to him. Especially since she was apparently in love with Harry, after all. After he realized that too much time had passed, he shook his head, trying frantically to remember the exact way that he worded it. But the silence stretched on, and nothing coherent seemed to be jumping out at him.

"How did you hurt yourself?" Arthur asked, because everything he wanted to say was rolling around in his head, and he couldn't quite grasp it.

"Dad, I really don't think--"

"Harry wouldn't hurt her--"

"Dad!"

Fred, Hermione, and Ron all took offense at his words. Lips flattening grimly, Arthur raised his wand. "_Silencio,_" The Silencing Charm would bind everyone except Harry and himself; even in this crowd, they would have a chance to speak without interruptions. This further outraged them -- Arthur noted the angry glares and red faces -- but he ignored them.

"How did you hurt your arm?" Arthur asked again.

"Oh..." said Harry, as though this was the last question he'd expected. He held his bleeding arm up and glanced at it, as if surprised that he was still bleeding. "Well, I had to get Fawkes, you see, sir, and Dumbledore said that -- that it was the only way to call him. Blood, and the tail feather from my old wand."

In truth, Arthur had expected something like this. But frankly, it drew too close to Harry sacrificing himself for Ginny, and Arthur found his words clogged up. Gesturing wordlessly at the arm, Arthur pointed his wand. Harry regarded him warily, but did as he asked.

The cut was not quite as deep as Arthur had feared, though blood still came out of it sluggishly. "The best way to heal this is the Flesh-Binding Spell, right?" Arthur asked, looking over at his wife. She was unable to speak, but gave a short little nod.

Although the rest of his family had relaxed somewhat, Harry did not. "You don't have to--"

"Yes, I do," Arthur said gently. "I really do." And without waiting for permission, he gripped Harry's elbow, and set the tip of his wand against the very outer edge of the wound. Whispering the spell, he watched as the flesh began to knit together. "_Tergeo_," he said, and the blood siphoned off. Harry's stance was rigid, and his arm trembled in Arthur's grip. Neither Arthur nor Harry said a word as the wound shrank and then began to stick together.

Harry took a deep breath, and pulled his arm away. "You didn't have to--"

Arthur cut him off. "Yes, I did have to," he said. "I needed to." The feeling of helplessness had only intensified since the night Harry had rescued his daughter from Malfoy Manor. And it didn't dissipate at this small healing. "I wish," said Arthur, speaking past a sudden, horrible lump in his throat. "I wish that I could just as easily heal the wounds left on you... and my daughter... by Voldemort, and"--_Lucius Malfoy_--"his Death Eaters."

"But," Harry said, looking completely confused. "But -- you -- I know that," he tried to force out. The words seemed to cause him physical pain. "I know that you..." a horrible flush spread on his cheeks; the fury that had accompanied Harry since Arthur had first seen him arrive in a blaze of phoenix fire was still etched clearly on his face, but now the pain was just under the surface threatening to break free. "You just said... I think it's -- I know that Ginny was taken because of me, and..."

Arthur tightened his grip on Harry's forearm; he looked as though he wanted to Apparate away and escape. "I did _not_ say that I blamed you," he said more forcefully than he intended. Even though his focus was almost entirely on Harry, he noticed that Ron, at least, had relaxed. The tension from the onlookers relaxed by a degree.

"But--"

"I said that I understand why you blame yourself," Arthur said as clearly as he could. He'd planned to mention that while Arthur had grown up in a loving home, some of his cousins had not. And when parents treated children like commodities, the children were invariably more vulnerable. Harry's situation with the Dursleys had been even worse. But there was no time for relating personal experience. Not now.

"I'm not sure I understand, sir," said Harry.

"You were never loved the way children should be," Arthur said simply. A tug at his robes caught his attention: Ginny smiled up at him, brown eyes clear of fear and disgust. She cocked her head as though to say _keep going._ So he did. "The Dursleys were cruel and unkind and never offered you the affection you deserved. And I think that when you finally met us -- Molly and I -- and we began to love you as a son, you couldn't accept what we offered freely."

Harry mumbled something and ruffled his hair, face still bright with color. It seemed to take quite a lot of effort for him to keep his shoulders square. He pulled his arm out of Arthur's grip and scratched at it, holding it close to his body.

"You never had to earn our love," Arthur said, hoping he was making sense. "Had you not been in time to save me from Nagini back in your fifth year, Molly and the others would've carried on thinking you were still a part of the family. Had you not thought of the bezoar in your sixth year, and Ron had died, we would've loved you anyway."

A small hand tucked into his, squeezed, and then retreated. Arthur closed his eyes briefly, knowing that he had another reason to thank Harry. "And even if..." he said, voice raspy. "Even if you had been too late at Malfoy Manor, I would never have blamed _you._"

Harry's brows slammed together. "How can you, of all people, say that?" he asked accusingly, as though Arthur had betrayed him somehow. The waves of accidental magic had died down, but Arthur wondered how long he could keep up his rigid control.

"Very easily," said Arthur. "I think I'm the _most_ grateful for what you--"

"Don't," Harry said sharply, eyes glittering strangely. "_Don't._ This isn't -- we should be helping Ginny, she was hurt, and--"

"I'm not blind," Arthur cut him off. "Today, my daughter has fought off an attacker, laid to rest some of her demons, hasn't retreated, and"--his voice broke a little--"touched me willingly for the first time in over four years. As much as it _amazes_ me to admit it, Ginny is fine. It's you who--"

"I _am_ fine," Harry said insistently; Arthur knew he was lying through his teeth.

Ginny skirted around behind Harry, wrapping her arms around his middle. Harry entwined his fingers with hers and stared down at their clasped hands. Arthur waved his wand and lifted the charm off of his family, the Lupins, and the Minister of Magic. _Hopefully, I've made myself clear enough,_ he thought, feeling a little bubble of bitterness burst inside of him.

No one said anything.

"You aren't fine," Arthur said finally. It was obvious that Harry didn't want to come out and say that he was hurting, that old wounds that had never fully healed were bleeding again. But everything about him, from the way he stood to the look on his face, made it apparent that he was the furthest thing from fine that a person could be. "Voldemort hurt you, and I don't think you've ever really come to terms with that."

"Ginny was hurt worse," Harry said, lips barely moving.

"Is that why you haven't dealt with this?" Arthur asked. "You think that because Ginny was -- raped and tortured, you aren't allowed to feel wounded too? Voldemort raped you--"

"_I wasn't raped--_"

"Maybe your body wasn't, but your mind was," Arthur said sternly, ignoring the way his eyes stung and the lump in his throat. "And you need to acknowledge that, otherwise you're going to carry that weight for the rest of your life."

Harry glanced up at the ceiling, then down to where the pygmy puffs were playing, and then shrugged his shoulders. "It'll be fine," he said stubbornly.

"No, it won't," Arthur countered. "You'll always be expecting one of us to finally blame you, won't you? You'll think that I'll come to my senses, that you'll feel like you owe us something for loving you."

Harry's shoulders slumped, and Arthur knew that he was finally breaking through to him. He took a step forward. "You don't owe us anything," he said thickly. As much as he was trying to push Harry, he realized that he was pushing himself, too. "None of us dreamt of blaming you four years ago. And knowing what I do now of what happened, what you did for her, for my daughter, I'm... humbled."

"Please don't," Harry breathed.

"Humbled," Arthur repeated firmly. "Humbled and grateful, and I will be until the day I die. That is _never_ going to change. You died for her."

"Not really."

"But you meant to. And as much as I've wanted to thank you -- ever since you brought her home -- it still... it _kills_ me that you -- both of you -- were placed in that horrible position."

"I didn't save her life, she saved mine," said Harry, in an anguished voice.

"Had you actually died, how long do you think she would have survived?"

Harry appeared to have run out of arguments. Silence hung in the air, making it heavy and thick. It was almost unnatural, how quiet everyone else in the room was; strange enough that Arthur wondered if his spell had failed. His eyes caught Fred's, who gave him a surreptitious thumbs up. He looked back at Harry just in time to see him stumble forward (Arthur suspected that Ginny had given him a little push). Arthur caught him, and didn't let go.

He gathered him up in exactly the same way he'd done with all of his children, when they'd been young and frightened or hurt. For a moment, Harry was tense, and then... he broke. Tentatively, Harry hugged him back, and rested his head on Arthur's shoulder. "It's okay, it's all right," Arthur murmured.

Harry's shoulders shook, and hot tears wet Arthur's shoulders. He mumbled; Arthur couldn't understand the words, but he knew enough that the four year old wound was finally being lanced. He glanced over at Ginny, who also had tears sliding down her face, but she managed a smile at him nevertheless.

"It's all right," Arthur said again, certain, for once, that it was true.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry wasn't alone for very long before Ginny came to find him. The moonlight flickered over the pond; it felt much later than it actually was. It was hard to believe that it had only been a few hours since Stuart Method, Elizabeth Barnett, and Aisling Powell had come banging on his door. Muted anger made his belly twinge. But even that was fading. Ginny and Arnold were fine. In some strange way, Ginny was even more than fine.

Harry had no clue whether it was the fact that he'd cried (which was sort of embarrassing), or Mr. Weasley's words (which had been incredibly humbling), or Arnold's recovery, or just a combination of everything that had happened tonight, but Harry hadn't felt this unburdened since Cedric Diggory's death. It was startling to realize that he wouldn't find the question "are you all right?" to be so intrusive and jarring. He could answer in the positive.

Her light steps crunched the rocks beneath her feet as she made her way to the boulder upon which he sat.

"Ask me if I'm all right," he ordered.

"Are you all right?" she asked, only a hint of wariness in her voice.

"I am," he said.

Ginny didn't say anything more, just came to stand in front of where he sat on his boulder. Up close, he saw that her face was still swollen and blotchy. But he only had a brief impression before she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. Harry returned her embrace, kissing the top of her head, and resting his cheek against it. They didn't really need to say anything; more than enough had already been said, and Harry wanted to savor how he felt. Ginny didn't need him to explain it to her; she already understood.

Her hands stroked his back. For long moments, he drew comfort from her touch. And even when they slid under his sweatshirt and shirt and caressed him, he didn't think about sex. Not until her fingers dipped into his trousers and boxers and curled around his hips did his body feel very hot all of a sudden. "Here?" he said in a higher voice than normal. He couldn't really deny that she was deliberately arousing him. Gooseflesh erupted on his stomach and chest and he hardened further when her hands came up, and her thumbs rubbed against his nipples.

Instead of answering him, she pulled back a little, and murmured two spells. The boulder was suddenly much warmer -- almost hot -- and much softer. Ginny leaned over, and her breasts brushed against his thigh. Unfortunately, Harry couldn't forget exactly where they were. It wasn't like making love to her around Hogwarts, her family was--

"Don't think so much, Harry," she said softly. Her hands were at his belt, tugging on it, undoing it. "They won't come out here. They'll give us privacy, after what happened."

_Yeah, but if they knew what was happening, they probably wouldn't be so happy with me,_ Harry thought darkly. She must have guessed at his thoughts, for she distracted him by rubbing his penis through his trousers. Sucking in a breath, he allowed her to pull his trousers down his hips and free him before he fully realized exactly what was happening. Her thumb circled the head of it, and her other hand stroked his sides. "Ginny, that's"--he intended to tell her that they couldn't do this_here_--"_wonderful._ Don't stop."

For she had just gripped him tightly, slowly moving her hand up and down. He squirmed. "We're pretty far away from the Burrow," he said, convincing himself. "And we'd hear them," he added. There would be no way that any of the Weasleys could make it close enough to see anything without them knowing it. He hissed when she withdrew her hand. "And even if they _do_ see us, I'll Obliviate them, I swear I will," he vowed earnestly.

Instead of replying, she reached out and cupped his neck with her hand and pulled him closer, giving him a kiss so heated that he thrust against her stomach. Given his position, this almost made him topple off the boulder. She pulled back a little, resting her head on his shoulder, and caressing his sides. He brought his own hands up to her back, rubbing it, and then moved to stroke her breasts.

"Not yet," she said shakily, moving slightly, until she was crouched a little. "I've been reading your book," she admitted.

Harry stared at her. Her bright hair was spread out over his legs, now, and her head and her lips were so close--

"I know exactly where I am," she said, flashing a grin at him. And then she gripped him in one hand, and kissed the tip of his penis. Her tongue flicked out and licked him, and before Harry could respond to the sensations, her mouth closed over him.

It seemed to last forever, but not long enough. Harry couldn't decide what was his favorite part: the suckling, the licking, the stroking, or just the way she combined everything to make it completely brilliant. He tangled his hands in her hair, helping her move her head up and down on his penis, but trying to go slowly. "You amaze me," he mumbled; her hand squeezed his thigh in reply. It was almost too much to concentrate on at once.

His toes curled in his shoes, and dimly he was aware that whenever her mouth enclosed him fully, he groaned. Loudly. His orgasm rushed toward him, starting in the small of his back, tightening the rest of his body, and it took all of his effort not to thrust into her mouth. "I'm close," he said, not really knowing what he should do. "I'm going to -- _Ginny_ -- I'm about to--"

She didn't pull away, but redoubled her efforts until Harry absolutely couldn't hold it in anymore. He flooded into her mouth, and lay back against the boulder, hips involuntarily jerking. Her hand pumped him gently, and her mouth remained locked around him. He panted for breath, unable to focus his thoughts, except to be aware of how incredible that had been. Almost without thinking about it, he reached out for Ginny and pulled her toward him until she was half-leaning, half-laying on top of him.

She nuzzled him and sighed.

Harry tilted her chin up and kissed her slowly, hardly moving his mouth and tongue. She was content to keep the kiss languid and soft. "I keep thinking I can't get any happier," Harry admitted.

"If I'd known that oral sex would make you this happy, I would've done it sooner," she said impishly. But then she raised her eyes to look at him, and he was surprised by the intensity of her expression. "I wish you could see yourself the way we see you," she said.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

It was strange to be back in Ron's bright orange room, gazing up at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep after the events of the day. A horrible day. But... a good day, as well. Harry was still angry, yes. Furious, even. But the sense of coming home overshadowed those negative feelings.

The ghoul decided that the house was much too quiet, and banged on the pipes. Harry turned over on his side, wide-awake despite the late hour, and gazed at the room. Most of Ron's things were still in there -- Ron had not bothered to clean up and move things out. Neither, apparently, had Mrs. Weasley. Comic books detailing the adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle sat on a dusty shelf. Three toads sat croaking quietly in a tank.

In some ways, Harry felt like he had come back to his childhood home, even though the cupboard under the stairs was miles and miles away. And he himself had journeyed very far since he had been twelve years old. On the heels of that thought, Harry's mind strayed to Ginny, and he wondered if she was all right. He'd had enough experience that he knew that she might be feeling frightened now that it was all over.

Almost without him even realizing it, he swung his feet over the bed, stood, and was out the door. It struck him, as he made his way down the stairs, that this probably wasn't the best idea. He imagined that the Weasleys had a good idea they were having sex, but still. They might take exception to the fact that Harry was now sneaking down to her room.

_I'm just going to comfort her, if she needs it_ Harry told himself as he passed Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys bedroom door. His feet were bare, and his footsteps quiet. However, he could not lie to himself. While it was probable that they wouldn't make love, Harry had absolutely no intention of not sleeping beside her. Not tonight. She needed him and he needed her. He paused outside her door and knocked gently. "It's me," he said quietly.

The door swung open almost before the words came out of his mouth, as though she had been waiting for him.

"I've been waiting," she said sheepishly, pulling him inside and closing the door quietly. "I was going to come to you in a minute."

"Your parents won't mind?" Harry asked as she crawled under the covers. He followed her quickly. The bed was smaller than his bed at Hogwarts, and about a quarter of the size of the bed in the master bedroom at Grimmauld Place. It was just as well. He wanted to be as close to her as possible.

She considered his question, appearing to give it a lot of thought. "I don't think they'll mind," she said finally. "I all but announced to them that we're intimate," she added ruefully. But she didn't sound upset about it, and Harry felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the closeness of her body. "I know that hearing about it and seeing it are two different things, but..."

Harry drew in a deep breath, and laid his cheek against hers, kissing it softly. She threaded their fingers together and stroked his hand with the pad of her thumb. "Are you all right?" he whispered.

There was a long pause. "I think so," she said. Harry shifted slightly, curling around her and tangling their feet together. "I'm a little afraid," she said.

His arms tightened around her. "You have every right to be," he murmured. "I'm a lot afraid."

She shook her head. "Not of that, not really. Not of Pollux Sennet, and what he did. I'm afraid that I'll get numb again, and... well..." her voice trailed away, but Harry sensed that she wasn't done, so he remained silent. "I feel alive again, and that I'm actually Ginny Weasley, and not -- not... someone else. I know that doesn't make any sense..."

"I think it makes perfect sense," Harry said. He thought her words applied to himself as well. "I don't know where I've been these last few years--"

"--But it hasn't been here," Ginny finished.

"And it's really good to be here," Harry added. And it was true, both physically and metaphorically.

"Really, _really_ good," Ginny said fervently. Her head turned, and Harry could feel her breath on his chin. Moonlight streamed across the pillow, but her face was shadowed, and he could not even see her eyes, let alone read her expression. "It was very indulgent of me to be the way I've been since Malfoy Manor," she admitted.

"What?" Harry said blankly.

"Indulgent," she repeated firmly. "I forgot myself and who I was. And I'm... a little afraid that I'll let that happen again."

Harry privately thought that now that she'd rediscovered her strength, she'd not allow herself to retreat and close off. But there was a thread of genuine fear in her voice that he couldn't ignore. "I wouldn't let you," he told her, squeezing her gently. "Now that I've got you, I'm not letting go." He paused, considering. "Just like you wouldn't let me go back to Grimmauld Place and be alone--"

She stiffened and then, a moment later, relaxed. "I'd drag you back."

Harry dragged the bedclothes up until only their heads poked out, side by side on the single pillow. Now that he was here next to her, he felt sleepy, something that had seemed so unattainable up in Ron's old room. He wondered, ruefully, if he'd come down to comfort her or because he no longer slept well when she wasn't next to him. He slid his hand up under her nightshirt, and stroked the smooth, silky skin he found there.

Just as he closed his eyes, preparing to sleep, she wiggled restlessly against him, adjusting her bare thigh so that his pajama-clad leg was nestled in between hers. Idly, Harry wondered if she was wearing knickers, but pushed that thought away as soon as he had it. Ginny wouldn't want to have sex right now. Not at the Burrow, and not right after the events of the day.

"I love you," he said quietly.

She didn't respond for a moment, but pressed closer, and then stroked his back with her fingertips. Even through his t-shirt, he could feel the light scratch of her nails. "I love you too," she replied. The words evidently made her want to be as close to his as possible, for she shifted until both of her arms were wrapped around him.

His penis, which had been interested in the closeness of their bodies for the past several minutes, twitched inside his pajama bottoms. It didn't help that Ginny kept up running her fingernails up and down his back. Each movement of her hand made her entire body move, and Harry was very aware of her lower body, rocking against his thigh.

"Mmm," Harry groaned, when her hand slipped under his shirt. Her hand was warm, and her thumb brushed down his spine. He couldn't help but press his leg closer.

_Stop it, Potter,_ he told himself sternly. _Now you're just being greedy,_ he added, remembering what had happened on the boulder.

As though mocking him, his penis hardened further. But Harry couldn't blame it entirely. Ginny's hand had given his back one final stroke, and had slid over his sensitive hip, and was now lightly massaging his belly and playing with the little hairs around his navel. His muscles quivered under her touch, and he sucked in a deep breath.

_Oh._ His head spun when he realized that she was deliberately trying to seduce him. He shifted his leg again, and was rewarded with another movement of her hips as she rubbed herself against him.

"Here and now?" he asked.

"I was hoping so," she said.

In response, Harry rose up on one elbow, tilted his head, and kissed her, slowly and thoroughly. At the same time, he lifted her thigh, and adjusted until his growing arousal was snug against her. He spared a thought for the contraceptive charm he'd used -- one of the many -- and decided to trust that it would, indeed, work for a week before he had to renew it.

For long minutes, Harry just kissed her, concentrating on the feel of her lips on his. He wanted to savor her the way she had savored him earlier, and he was mindful not to push too far... he wanted it to last.

Ginny moved restlessly against him, moaning loudly against his lips.

A thought struck him, and he pulled away suddenly, reaching for his wand, which had fallen to the floor. He flicked it twice, locking the door and casting a silencing charm, both of which would ensure their privacy. As an afterthought, he flicked it again, and the oil lamp beside her bed ignited. As he did so, she rustled under the covers, and a few moments later a pair of knickers sailed past his shoulder and landed on the ground.

Harry tried to return to the slow, lingering kisses, but both of them were too impatient. Ginny rolled onto her back and pulled Harry on top of her, letting out a breathy groan when his hips pressed down onto hers. Harry thrust slowly against her, content to feel her through his pajamas at the moment, and pressed kisses along her neck and across her shoulder.

When she squeezed his bum, pulling him even closer and harder against her, Harry sat back. Her face was flushed, eyes were wide, and her hair was a tousled halo around her head. Her shirt was bunched under her breasts, and her legs were splayed open. Harry let his gaze linger on her red curls. Reaching down, he stroked her with his finger, separating her folds, and was delighted at how wet she was.

"Take off your shirt," he said quietly.

She did so, not saying anything.

He could still see a thin, white scar between her breasts -- it would be gone by morning, he knew -- and he had to fight a surge of anger. Instead, he leaned over her and kissed it, tracing his tongue over it, as though he could hasten the healing. His thumb brushed over her clitoris and she gasped, arching her back.

"I love you," he said again, moving his head so he could kiss her breasts and take her hard nipple into his mouth. He looked up at her; she was watching him. "No one gets to touch you like this," he told her, sliding his finger into her and stroking her slick walls. "No one gets to see you naked, or gets to find out that you really are the loveliest witch in Britain, or gets to know how you taste, smell, and feel."

"I--"

"You're mine," Harry told her.

To his surprise, he felt her walls tighten around his finger, pulsing and fluttering as she climaxed.

"I love you," he said, right before sliding inside her.

----

----

**Author's Note: **

_An epilogue is likely forthcoming. And probably outtakes on my livejournal. But this is the last full chapter._


	33. All Together Now

**Author's Note: **_All right. I guess I lied when I said it was over. This isn't the epilogue - it's another full chapter. And as you will be able to tell from the ending, it isn't the last chapter, either. The reason for the new chapter(s)... I was a little burned out on the story, to be honest. But doing a cursory wrap-up of the events immediately following Sennet's death would have done the story a real disservice - and I just couldn't do it. I hope you enjoy it, and remember... reviews = motivation to write. _

It was, Arthur later understood, the silence that first woke him.

But he did not notice at first. Instead, he blinked in the early morning light. Looking out the window, he noticed that the sun was just beginning to crest over the high mountains to the east of the Burrow. His body, he thought wryly, was too used to waking early that even after such a late night, it was impossible to have a bit of a lie-in.

Scrubbing his face, he was careful to be as quiet as he could (not knowing yet that he could have been as noisy as a herd of elephants stampeding through their bedroom, and Molly still would not have heard him), and padded into their bathroom.

After getting everyone settled last night, he and Molly had cuddled together after making love for the first time in months. Few words had been spoken – after so many years of marriage they had different ways of communicating. The way she'd caressed him had been both an apology and an expression of joy. He was satisfied that his own actions had spoken of his feelings.

It had been quite some time since Arthur had woken up so content: months, possibly even years.

He was so lost in his thoughts, that it was not until he bent and pressed a kiss on his sleeping wife's cheek that he finally realized that something was strange. He could see the rise and fall of her breath, but he couldn't hear it. His mind still befuddled with sleep, he stared down at her for almost a minute.

"What's going on?" he whispered – or tried to. He moved his lips, but no sound emerged from his mouth.

_Hmm._

Arthur stamped his feet, clapped his hands, and started to hum a dreadful Celestina Warbeck song that Molly adored. Nothing. A momentary fear washed over him -- _have I gone deaf?_ But he quickly realized that the problem was more likely magical in nature, rather than physical.

Certain delicate aspects of what Ginny had said the night before flashed through his mind, and he had a good idea what had caused this. Deciding to test his theory, he grabbed his wand and slipped out of the room, and walked down the short flight of stairs. Ginny's door was tightly shut; there was no sign of whether there was one person in her bedroom or two.

Arthur suspected the latter.

Holding his wand up, he cast a detection charm; delicate swirls of blue swam in front of his vision, and his theory was confirmed.

Arthur couldn't help but be impressed at the strength of the silencing charm. After he found himself smiling at the door for long moments, he shook himself out of his daze. _What kind of father is actually happy that his teenaged daughter had locked herself in her room with her boyfriend?_ he asked himself. _And is impressed rather than outraged at the charm?_

However, he found himself entirely unable to feel anything other than joy that his daughter had come so far in such a short amount of time. Even if it was unnatural.

His contentment was short-lived.

A detection charm was simple enough to do without actually voicing the spell. In fact, most people considered that to be the one of the finest aspects of it. However, breaking a silencing charm was, as Arthur soon found out, impossible to do nonverbally.

_Damn and blast,_ he thought, casting a wary look up the stairs. It was still early, but he'd never been able to predict the twins' actions. They'd stayed the night, and if they woke up and discovered what had happened…

Precisely three seconds later, Arthur had Apparated to Bill's kitchen. Normal sounds filled his ears. "Thank Merlin," he muttered, delighted to hear the sound of his own voice.

"Dad?"

Bill stood next to the sink, gaping at him, and clutching a glass of water. "What's going on? Is it Ginny? Has anything else—"

"No, no," Arthur shook his head. "Nothing is wrong. I'm sorry for barging in here like this… but we have a bit of a situation at home."

"What kind of situation?" Bill asked blankly.

"The kind of situation you can't tell your brothers about," Arthur said sternly, wanting to get that out of the way as soon as possible. "Especially the twins. And you probably shouldn't mention it to your sister, either," he added.

Bill looked even more confused. "All right," he said slowly.

"There was a silencing charm cast around your sister's room last night – something went odd, I think—"

"Odd, how?" Bill asked.

"When I woke up, I couldn't hear anything," Arthur admitted. "I stomped around, sang, talked to myself… it was all silent. And I couldn't break the charm because I couldn't do it nonverbally…"

Arthur watched as understanding smoothed the confusion on his oldest son's face. Where Bill's face had been one big, sleepy question mark, now there was a knowing glint in his eyes, and a smirk on his face. The smirk was quickly hidden, but Arthur had caught it nonetheless.

_At least it's better than how the twins would've reacted,_ thought Arthur. "Remember, not one word to the twins," Arthur said out loud.

Bill shrugged. "All right, but…"

"No buts," Arthur said sternly. It wasn't often that he was strict with the boys (he happily left that to Molly), but when he was, he meant it. "Can you break the charm?" he asked.

"Of course," said Bill. He grimaced then, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "Don't you think it's a little soon for them?" he asked bluntly. "I mean… you're her dad; don't you think you should be—"

"Storming into their room, hauling Harry out of bed, and throwing him out of the Burrow?" Arthur finished humorously. The idea was ludicrous.

"It's a fair point," said Bill. "Not throwing him out. But they are both obviously… six months ago I would've said that Ginny wouldn't let anyone touch her casually, let alone intimately. And Harry!" he appeared momentarily speechless at that point, but Arthur waited quietly. "It just seems soon," he finished lamely.

"It may be soon for us, but not for them," Arthur pointed out. "They've both just spent years being almost completely alone and cut off from everyone."

"True," Bill said slowly. The spark of humor returned to his eyes. "So I'll just think it's funny that my little sister had the guts to sneak her boyfriend into her room late at night."

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. "Good boy. Let's go break the charm before anything happens."

"Not a problem," said Bill.

It was a bit more of a problem than Bill thought, however. Even after they Apparated directly in front of Ginny's door, it still took him more than five minutes to break it, and Arthur watched as a fine sweat broke over his brow. Having to do things nonverbally just made it so much more difficult, Arthur thought. And as the seconds passed, he was warier and warier, and keeping a sharp eye on the stairs.

"That should do it," whispered Bill.

Arthur jumped, and then chuckled wryly. "It's funny how easy it is to get used to something being wrong," he said. "And then how disconcerting it can be when it all goes right again."

"Good point," Bill said dryly.

They walked quietly down the stairs. Arthur was just about to suggest that they have an early breakfast together, when he saw the huge, tawny wings of a Ministry owl. It glared at him through the window with a beady eye, and fluttered its wings. Sighing, and giving up hope of breakfast, Arthur opened the latch on the window, and let the bird in. Disdainfully, it held out its leg for Arthur to take his message, and then spun into the air (clipping Bill in the head with its wings as it did so), and flew away.

"It's from Kingsley," said Arthur, recognizing the bold, precise writing on the envelope. He broke the wax seal, and opened the letter, feeling a stir of trepidation. Staring down at the parchment, he read quickly.

_Arthur,_

__

Please come to the Ministry of Magic as soon as possible.

_Kingsley_

"Well," Arthur said slowly. "I guess I'd better get dressed."

Ginny woke up in her own bed at the Burrow. It took a few seconds, blinking blearily at her surroundings, to remember fully the events of the day before. Sennet's death at her hands, Arnold's near death, Harry's timely arrival… She reached out her hand for Harry, but found the bed beside her empty.

"Harry?" she sat up, looking around. Sunlight streamed in through the window, revealing that her room was empty except for a few pieces of furniture and her scattered belongings. It was almost as though him stealing into her room last night to comfort and make love to her had been a dream.

But there was a pleasant ache between her thighs that told her otherwise. And Ginny glanced at herself in the mirror (even though she was alone, her cheeks brightened with color), and remembered how intense it had been to watch Harry's reflection moving above her. Sennet's assault seemed very far away, cocooned as she was by Harry's love for her.

Ginny slid out of bed, picked up the dressing gown she'd tossed on the floor the night before, and threw it over her shoulders. Not even bothering to get dressed for the day, she scrubbed at her face with a washcloth, and swiped at her hair with a brush. Two minutes later, she opened her door and hurried through it—

"Ooof!" she said, surprised, when she almost immediately banged into Harry.

Their impact startled a chuckle out of him, and he grasped her underneath her elbows to steady her. "Should've chosen a better place to lurk, I suppose," he said, green eyes bright behind his glasses. He did not look particularly sorry, however, as he drew her into a tight hug.

"I missed you when I woke up," she admitted. Although now that her sleepiness had mostly cleared from her mind, she reckoned it was probably a good thing that he hadn't blatantly passed a night in her bed. "How long have you been out here?"

"Er – not long," he said, sounding strangely uncomfortable. "I missed you too," he added hastily. "But I didn't think it would be a good idea for me to stay."

Ginny pulled back, taking in the details of his appearance. Unlike her, he was fully dressed, and had obviously gone to some effort to clean and press his robes. Narrowing her eyes, she noticed that he'd even shaved. Only a few tufts of hair stood up from his usually adorably untidy head, as though he'd recently attempted to tame it.

"What's going on?" she asked suspiciously.

"What? Nothing," he said defensively.

She backed away and went down a few of the stairs leading to the bottom floor. He followed her without hesitating. _Good_, she thought, satisfied. If any self-blame or doubt had resurfaced, he would've been dragging his heels. But still. It was very strange that he had combed his hair, and she intended on finding out why.

He huffed out a sigh. "I'm just a little nervous," he said softly. Ginny stopped a few steps up from the bottom. They were close enough to the kitchen that she could hear bustling and murmurs. Harry moved by her so he could look her in the eye. "I feel a bit like how I felt the morning after we first kissed," he told her, gripping her hand. "I'm _really_ happy to be here, but I'm a little…" his voice trailed away, and he shrugged.

Ginny cupped the back of his head in her left hand, leaned forward, and kissed him. Her intent was not to arouse, but to reassure. And as her mouth slid over his, and his arms came up to wrap around her, she could feel some of the tension leaving his body. She drew back a little, resting her forehead against his.

"I have a very good feeling that they're going to love you," said Ginny, because he sounded like a bloke about to meet his witch's family for the first time.

"Let's just hope they haven't figured out what you meant by me _cherishing_ you," muttered Harry, kissing her jaw. But this obviously didn't make him too anxious, for he smiled a bit smugly. "Or that you felt _cherished_ three times last night."

Ginny grinned. Harry never tired of making her orgasm – but that was all right. _She_ never tired of him making her orgasm either. Slowly and reluctantly, however, she disentangled herself from his embrace, and distanced herself a bit. It wouldn't do to start something on the stairs at the Burrow.

Unable to resist, she reached out and mussed his hair while he yelped. Grabbing his hand again and skirting around him, she pulled him down the remaining stairs and toward the kitchen. "Morning," she said determinedly. Her mum, Ron, Hermione, the twins, Angelina Johnson, and Percy crowded around the kitchen table.

It over-flowed with food: sausage, kippers, eggs, and bacon weighed down one side. Toast, muffins, and seven different kinds of jam spread out across the other. It looked as though her mum had gone into a Harry-inspired cooking frenzy and had whipped up everything in the pantry.

_So Harry's not the only one who is nervous,_ Ginny thought to herself.

"Morning, dears," her mum said in a subdued voice.

Harry cleared his throat. "Morning."

"At least it's still morning," said Ron. Ginny looked over; the clock read ten minutes after eleven. "We thought you two might sleep the day away."

"Not quite," said Harry.

Ginny squeezed his hand, and there was an awkward little shuffle toward the table. Ron and Hermione scooted over far enough that there was just enough room for them both at the end. She watched Harry stare down at the table, then lift his gaze to peer around the room, lingering on the windows and cups and the other things he'd destroyed during his rage of the night before.

Her stomach dropped a little, remembering. But she did not need to think about Sennet, his attack, or his death. Instead, she focused on filling a plate, while Harry did the same.

"Where's Dad?" Ginny asked.

"He's with Kingsley," her mum answered promptly. "Take a few more sausages, Harry," she urged. "And there were a few things to take care of at Hogwarts and the Ministry—"

"What kind of things?" Harry asked sharply.

"Nothing you needed to be involved with," her mother answered sternly. "Both of you need to rest and relax, and all of this"—she gestured with both hands—"can be handled by Arthur and Kingsley."

"But—"

Ron pushed Harry hard enough that Ginny had to throw her foot off to keep from falling off the side of the chair. "Watch it, Ron," she said, avoiding Harry's arm. His elbow had slammed into his plate, and the sleeve of his robes was covered in scrambled eggs and jam.

Ginny fought a grin as she grabbed a few napkins and started swiping at it, cleaning it off. The twins were laughing, and Angelina and Hermione spoke quietly to one another, glancing at Ginny every so often and beaming. "There," she said, when she'd cleaned off the worst of the mess. Her eyes met his. "All clean. No thanks to Ron."

"Thanks," he said, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. For a brief instant, Ginny thought he might kiss her in front of most of her family, but he seemed to decide against it and pulled away.

Not soon enough.

"How in the name of Merlin—"

"How did this even _happen_?"

It appeared as though both her mother and Percy of all people had reached some sort of breaking point. Her mother's head swiveled back and forth between them, and she was chewing on her bottom lip. Percy just looked completely bewildered, as Ron and Hermione laughed.

But it was George who answered first. "Harry's been teaching Ginny _Defense_ Against the _Dark Arts_," he said wickedly. And while it was perfectly true – Harry was her professor, after all – the innuendo was far from subtle. Ginny trembled on the verge of being extremely embarrassed, and plucked at her dressing gown.

"Not all year, it didn't happen right away," Harry said defensively. Ginny stifled a groan – he'd fallen right into their trap.

Ron snickered.

"So you haven't been her professor all year?" Fred asked, attempting to sound innocent and fooling no one.

"Or you haven't been—"

"_George!_" her mum said sternly, while the twins laughed.

"They think they're really funny," Ginny said, lips twitching. A flush had crept up his neck and spread across his cheeks. His leg even started jiggling as though he wanted to escape.

"Aren't we, though?" Fred asked, stroking his chin in a way that only meant trouble. "I'm just trying to get some answers."

"Like… when the two of you were _practicing Transfiguration_ in Harry's office…" George said, with an air of suppressed excitement. Ginny thought about silencing him, but a small bit of the tension had been eased by the teasing.

"Which one of you really needs to work on it a little more?" finished Fred.

"That is no concern of yours," her mum said, as Harry dropped his head into his hands. "Anyway, Ginny, dear," she said. Ginny rather suspected that her mother was enjoying herself more than she let on. _Poor Harry,_ she thought, patting him on the back. Even Percy was hiding a smile behind his hand.

"Yes, Mum?"

"When did you two…" she gestured vaguely, eyebrows flaring up; the surprise had obviously not died down over night. Ginny was actually a little surprised that her mother hadn't peppered them with questions as soon as they'd walked into the kitchen.

"It was right after Christmas," said Ginny.

"But I knew I fancied her before that," Harry put in, as though this was a matter of great importance. "Ron, could you stop nudging me?" he asked peevishly.

Ron chuckled, and mumbled something Ginny was pretty sure she didn't want to hear.

"Christmas?" Percy asked shrewdly, ignoring his younger brother's antics, which Ginny thought was very smart of him.

"Right after, yeah," Harry confirmed. "December thirtieth."

"I had to kiss him first," Ginny said smugly. "I'm more of a Gryffindor than he is."

"That's not a surprise," Ron said with great good cheer. "Harry doesn't seem like the type who'd be very good with – ow! Merlin, Harry, your elbow's like a dagger."

Ginny ignored Ron. "And we've been together pretty much ever since," she added, deciding not to mention the three weeks when she hadn't spoken to Harry at all. Her hand crept over his thigh and squeezed. In the silence that followed, Ginny ate a few bites, taking the opportunity to fill her stomach before the interrogation really began.

"I wanted to kiss you before you wanted to kiss me, if that counts," Harry told her.

Ginny gaped at him. "You are joking, right?"

He looked at her, surprised. "No..." he said slowly. "Actually, I'm not." His brows knit together. "I thought you realized you wanted to when I took you to the Mirror of Erised?" The tone of his voice made it sound like a question. His hand flew to his hair, rumpling it even further.

They stared at each other, while the twins snickered in the background. "You're actually serious?" Ginny asked, a wide grin stretching across her face. "You are!" she said gleefully. "You _knew_ I had a crush on you."

"Yes, when you were younger, but..."

Ron snorted. "She's been wanting you to kiss her since she was about three, mate," he said. Ginny thought this was a mild exaggeration, but only by a year or two. Her enjoyment of the moment deepened.

"She used to make us play house with her," said Fred. "And you were always her husband. Not _actually_ you, of course," he added.

"But one of us - her poor minions," George continued.

"Ron was always the bridesmaid," Percy added smugly.

"They were always very sweet to her," her mum smiled, winking at Harry.

Harry was speechless for several long moments, before he rallied and turned back to her. "As much as it's fun to picture Ron in a bridesmaid gown--"

"I never wore a gown!" Ron said indignantly. "I wasn't _that_ nice to her. I wouldn't wear girl clothes for love or money," he muttered under his breath.

But the weight of Harry's attention was focused fully on Ginny, she could tell. He pursed his lips. "I don't mean _then_," he said. "I meant now - this year." The titters from the twins and Ron had died away, and Harry's voice was very serious. She _knew_ what he was thinking; he'd obviously been under the impression that her crush on him had died at Malfoy Manor, and that she'd developed feelings for him this year without that foundation.

"I never stopped having a crush on you," she informed him. "Or wanting you to kiss me, or thinking about it."

His mouth opened and closed repeatedly. "But surely you didn't after..."

Ginny rubbed at her nose, sort of wishing they could be having this conversation in private, but also glad that her family was there. She could use them as props. "Fred, remember when you burned down half the orchard?"

Her mother gasped. "That was you?"

Ignoring this, Ginny pressed forward. "Do you remember what game we were playing?"

Fred grinned at her. "Harry Potter Battles the Dragon to Win the Lady's Favor."

"Ron was the dead princess," George said wickedly. "The dragon's first, unlucky victim – you know, to add a bit of fun to the game. Fred and I were the dragon. Bill, I think, was you," he added, pointing at Harry.

"That doesn't explain why you burned the orchard down," her mum said severely.

"Dragons breathe _fire_, Mum," Fred pointed out with a winning smile. "Didn't you want us to make it realistic for her? Charlie taught us."

"Entertain your sister, boys," George said in a shrill but uncanny imitation of their mother.

Ginny chanced a glance at Harry. He looked as though he either wanted to sink right through the floor or laugh. Her cheeks felt hot, and she was a little embarrassed that her crush had obviously been above and beyond what he'd thought it had been.

"But how did it happen that you two would spend enough time together?" Percy persisted in the original line of questioning, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"I'm her professor, so we saw each other during class," Harry told him. "And then… we hung out with Hagrid, and started flying together. It was sort of a gradual thing. But… not really, because when I look back, I think I started falling in love with her right away."

Her mother looked to be on the verge of bursting into tears.

Ginny winced.

"That's… very sweet," her mum said weakly.

Ginny glanced up at Harry's face; he seemed a little embarrassed to have been so open, but when he noticed her look, he gave her a quick smile.

"How come you're never this excited when I bring home a witch, Mum?" Fred asked, smiling broadly.

"Maybe I would be if you hadn't already brought home about twenty girls," her mum fired back instantly. "Sometimes two at once. And don't think I don't know about that, young man."

"Two at once? You've got to be kidding," said Fred. "I'm not that talented." His eyes widened, and a particularly evil smile spread across his face, and he looked at Harry. "I'd need a textbook manual for that, Mum. You know. The kind they sell at _Flourish and Blotts,_" he emphasized his words very carefully.

George chuckled. "I know what kind of textbook manual you're talking about, Fred," he said, giving a little nod. "In fact... Hermione said that she sees people buying that kind of stuff all the time..."

Ginny decided then that six brothers was two too many.

************

Two equal desires warred inside Harry: wanting to hold everyone in the room at wandpoint until they agreed to never mention that book again, and pointing out that of all the witches in the room, Ginny had the biggest smile on her face. Had Mrs. Weasley not been in the room, Harry probably would have combined the two.

"I'm sure Hermione sees all sorts of people buying all sorts of books," said Harry. He kept his voice mild. Underneath the table, Ginny patted him on the knee. At least she seemed fine with all the innuendo and teasing that had dogged them from the time they had entered the kitchen. The knots in his shoulders relaxed further, and the unease that had bubbled in his belly since he'd left Ginny sleeping in her room had disappeared completely.

It struck him how stupid he'd been to leave these people for all those years.

"Not everyone who buys—"

George's sly, teasing tone turned into a little scream of surprise and fear when squeaking bats erupted out of his nose. He grabbed at his face, but the bats kept coming; Fred, Ron, and Percy roared with laughter. Looking at Ginny, Harry raised his eyebrow.

But instead of smirking, she shrugged. "It wasn't me," she said.

"And that's quite enough from you," Mrs. Weasley said, putting away her wand. Her eyes were twinkling, and she looked quite proud of herself. "The Bat Bogey Hex was always one of my favorites," she said.

Hermione, Angelina, and Ginny laughed then.

"I'm sorry, babe, but you deserved it," Angelina said fondly, patting George on the shoulder. He cast her a pitiful look as the last of the bats came out of his nose, but no one around the table was inclined to pity him. Harry himself was having a great deal of fun.

The rest of the breakfast was less eventful, though it was still punctuated by teasing comments and laughter. Harry recognized this; for some who had not been in these types of situations before, it may seem more than a little strange. They laughed often – relief made things funnier, and Harry suspected that Ginny's ease with her family, and Harry's own presence added to the general hilarity of the moment.

Harry felt as though yesterday had, in fact, happened months ago, maybe even years. As they finally finished eating (Ron was already asking when they'd have lunch), Harry walked with Ginny into the sitting room, throwing his arm over her shoulder. No one appeared anxious to leave or do anything more than sit around and tease each other. Only Mrs. Weasley had a task to do – she was knitting small fuzzy things that might have been a gift for Remus and Dora's new baby.

Harry did not even notice that Mr. Weasley had entered the room until he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder, and turned to see him. His face was set in grim lines – Harry looked over Mr. Weasley's shoulder to see Remus Lupin, arms folded, looking troubled.

"What is it?" Harry asked, squeezing Ginny's hand.

"Can we speak to you alone?" Mr. Weasley asked quietly. The buzz of conversation died down, as the others in the room noticed the change in atmosphere. Surprisingly, no one said anything, not even Ginny.

"Sure," said Harry. He disentangled himself from Ginny, and rose. Remus and Mr. Weasley led him through the kitchen and out the back door. Neither Arthur, Harry, nor Remus noticed Ginny had followed them until she came to stand next to Harry.

"Ginny—" Mr. Weasley began.

"I'm staying," she cut him off, looking quite fierce. "It's about me, isn't it?"

"Both of you, actually," said Remus. "I'm taking over your classes," he told Harry, whose stomach dropped. Had he been fired? "Temporarily," he added. "Until everything… gets cleared up."

"And Ginny, you're going to have to stay here as well," said Mr. Weasley, running his hand over his bald spot. "I don't want either of you to worry about this – it's a complication, but it isn't going to end badly for us—"

"_What_ isn't going to end badly?" Harry asked sharply. Already, he was regretting not Apparating to Hogwarts directly after Mrs. Weasley had said there were things that needed to be taken care of. Whatever it was, it wasn't _horrible_ -- Mr. Weasley and Remus were grim, not terrified – but it was bad enough.

"Mrs. Sennet," said Remus, looking as though he'd just tasted something vile, "is exercising her rights."

Mr. Weasley glanced over at Harry, and then turned his gaze on Ginny. "Despite the evidence – and there's plenty, even without your testimony – she's insisting that her son was murdered in cold blood. It's going to have to be – well, you two are going to have to go in front of the Wizengamot, Ginny."


	34. A Hard Day's Night: Part I

Ginny felt a white flash of fury and fear so perfectly mixed that she could not tell one from the other. She stared at the space directly above her father's shoulder. Dimly, she was aware of Harry moving closer to her. "Why Harry?" she rasped out. When her dad and Remus Lupin exchanged glances, she repeated herself. "Why Harry? He didn't – he was just there at the end."

"Not for lack of trying," Harry said grimly.

"She's a cold bitch," said Remus, startling everyone. "Kingsley was there – it's complicated, but he was supervising the Aurors last night in the… investigation. Then they went to notify Ravenna Sennet. Kingsley said that if he hadn't known she was his mother—"

"Apparently, she smiled," her dad said, sounding both baffled and angry. "Smiled!"

There was another glance exchanged between the two older men. Ginny watched them closely. It was glaringly obvious that they were keeping secrets. She had a good guess what those secrets might be about – her mind was working overtime, constructing visions of the scene. Pollux Sennet had obviously thought that she was soiled and forever tainted by what had happened to her.

"Never mind that," Harry snapped. "I want to know why Ginny is going to have to go to court for something that was clearly self-defense – he had the fucking Imperius Curse on her, for God's sake—"

"We think she wants publicity," Remus said. His voice was quiet, but there was a deep rumble coming from his chest. His face was twisted in an angry mask.

Ginny took a step back, breath catching in her throat. For a moment, he'd looked so much like Fenrir Greyback that she was drawn right back to -- _STOP!_ she screamed at herself. Little whorls of conversation swirled around her while she forcibly brought herself away from the whirlpool of memory. "Publicity," she repeated, because she felt like she had to say something.

"For her book," her dad explained unnecessarily. Ginny listened, growing angrier by the moment, as they haltingly explained what had happened last night and this morning. Kingsley had gone with the Aurors to supervise the collection of evidence ("Apparently the three Gryffindors who helped are quite sharp. Kingsley said they reminded him of you, Harry," Remus said). They had cast Priori Incantatem on Sennet's wand, and the use of the Imperius Curse had been confirmed. That was when Kingsley had gone to Ravenna.

"Like Arthur said, she smiled," said Remus. "And insisted on bringing charges against Ginny and the professor for Defense Against the—"

"Wait," Harry held up his hand. "How did she—"

"Apparently, Pollux Sennet enjoyed a very open communication with his mother." It was her father's turn to snarl. "I wanted to burn out my own eyes after I read it. But he shared what he saw of the two of you in Hagrid's hut"—at this, Ginny's cheeks burned—"and what he's witnessed of your courtship this last term."

"Ravenna claims that it was a conspiracy against her son," Remus added, carefully looking away from Ginny. "That – uh – there was deliberate – erm – seduction on Ginny's part. That she was taking revenge on any Lestrange or former Lestrange or – in the case of Sennet – anyone connected to them."

"What the fuck?" Harry said loudly. He was quivering with rage, and his hands were fisted in his hair. "That – that _whore_thinks that Ginny – that she deliberately got Sennet to assault her, so that she could kill him?"

"That's exactly what she's claiming. Kingsley wasn't sure if she actually believes it, he says she's crazy enough to," said Remus. Ginny was silent as wave after wave of jumbled emotions broke over her. It was too much for her, and she dragged her eyes away, wanting to distract herself.

She stared out at the yard, wanting to have her vision filled with something familiar and mundane. In addition to everything else she was feeling, she had a nagging feeling that something was missing. Several trees out in the orchard were scorched, and the earth showed signs that a fire had swept through the area. But even beyond that, there was something _off_ about the yard. It was _wrong_, just like the events of the last day had been wrong. The last vestiges of the cocoon Harry had made for her drifted away. She knew what was missing, and she also knew that it somehow had to do with her—

"Ginny?" Harry said. Ginny turned to look at him. His green eyes reflected everything she was feeling right back to her.

"I – sorry," she said shakily. She looked at her dad then, wondering if she was right. His shed was missing; there was an indentation in the ground exactly where it used to be. And without having to ask, she knew why the small building that had housed all the Muggle things her dad loved was gone.

"We don't have any worries about the outcome," Remus said firmly. "Kingsley assured us of that – the Aurors who did the actual investigation were assured that it was done in self-defense. However—"

"It's the fact that she has to stand trial in the first place," Harry pointed out.

Ginny moved closer to him and elbowed him in the stomach. "I'm standing right here," she told him. Instead of replying with words, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "And you have to go to trial too," she added.

"Ravenna claims that he was in on the plan," her dad said. He folded his arms tightly across his chest. "But we have an advantage there – thanks to Harry's enchantment on the first day of school, Pollux was unable to tell his mother who the DADA professor actually is."

"A secret weapon," Remus said grimly.

***********

**Author's Note:** _Hi! It's been forever since I updated this story, right? Well! I've actually given myself some very real incentive to finish it - I've auctioned off the completion of the story. People are donating to Make a Wish (through me), and now Yellow Submarine will finally be completed. For more details, please head over to my livejournal account (my username is - you guessed it - deadwoodpecker). Not only is it a more interactive environment over there, but I also tend to post things earlier there than I do here. Also, if any of you are interested in reading the original I'm slaving away over (I'm actually converting Yellow Submarine into an original, so for those who want to read it, some aspects of the plot should be verrrrrry familiar). _

_I hope to see you guys there!_


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